Higher Ground
by thegirlwhocan
Summary: post 3a. People in town are being killed by something as the Pack struggles to cope with the consequences of defeating the Darach. Allison, Scott and Stiles are finding that having a 'heart of darkness' is no fun at all, and is the hunter Deaton has called for a help a friend or foe? Beacon Hills has never been such a nightmare.
1. Closer to the edge

'Closer to the edge'

They say that when a great flood comes, you have to head for higher ground. So that while everything else is washed away by the pure power of the waves, it cannot reach you; humans head upwards for a place of safety. A secret haven above the wreckage where you are untouchable. People have these places, even if they don't recognise them, the places they go when the flood comes – that all night diner they run to at 3am; the tree houses and playgrounds they lived in as kids when they were carefree and uninhibited; and in some cases, these places can even be a person – the one you run to when the world is ending.

It's like when you're drowning – you kick up to the surface, looking for air and sunlight. Humans as a species have a knack for survival which mostly involves ascending as high as possible and holding on tightly. Perhaps they believe that one day they'll go high enough to discover the barricades of paradise, and there will be nothing to have to run from. No more high ground needed.

But until then, they keep running upwards and onwards.

* * *

"Scott," when he got a phone call from his best friend at 1:30 in the morning, Scott McCall knew the trouble they'd been waiting for had come. "My dad just got home, the cops – they've found a body in the woods."

Since the death of the Darach, things had been safer in Beacon Hills; no more murders, the alpha pack broken, finally a chance of stability – but he wasn't that optimistic. Deaton had warned them all that by sacrificing themselves for their parents, there would be consequences for the town. He had said things would be drawn; that monsters would come. They had been warned.

And now the time had come.

"I'll be over in ten" he hung up, tearing himself from bed. In anticipation of this, he'd started sleeping fully clothed, so had to only pull on a pair of sneakers before leaving the house. He knew she'd be pissed, but his mom had just got off a long shift at the hospital so he couldn't bring himself to wake her, leaving a hastily scribble note in the kitchen instead.

Motorbike roaring into life, Scott sped off towards the Stilinski's. He got there quickly, pulling up outside and racing to the unlocked door, finding the Sheriff and Stiles talking heatedly in the kitchen.

"What happened?" he asked.

The Sheriff looked up, nodding at the new arrival "Got a call out at around midnight, some cops found a body in the reserve. It, - it looked like an animal kill."

"Another wolf?"

"I don't think so," Stiles cut in, waving Scott over to look at the crime scene report. A body, barely recognisable it had been torn into so many shreds, met Scott's eyes. The fact that he barely flinched anymore scared him. "Look at the wounds – its savage. There's no thought, no sentience behind this. I don't think it's another wolf."

"Sometimes on a full moon wolves are capable of this, we can't rule it out" Scott pointed out.

"But it's not a full moon tonight"

"Fair point," the alpha relented, "but I'm going to go to the woods to check it out – if there was another wolf there, I should be able to pick up a scent. We have to be sure"

"Fine" Stiles immediately walked to grab his jacket off the back of a chair, sliding it on without a word and pausing at the door, finally noticing the other two men had paused. "What?"

"You're coming with me?"

"As if I'd let you go alone"

Scott felt the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. "Let's go"

They started to leave before the Sheriff spoke up, "I'm coming too."

"No. You've already been out there and it's not safe – you've done enough, get some sleep" Stiles said.

"You think I'm gonna go to sleep and let you go running about the woods I just found a body in?"

Stiles stubbornly made a face, "Yeah, I do."

"Stiles, if you're going, I'm coming too" the Sheriff said decidedly, going too to leave the house.

"Dad, no!" Stiles yelled as his father passed, startling them all. His eyes were bugging out, so the Sheriff turned in surprise to face his son again. "I've just got you back. You can't be put in that situation where your life is on the line again; I can't do that again, dad-" his voice cracked a little, "I can't."

"Do you think I don't feel the same? You're in as much danger as I am!"

Stiles shrugged, smiling weirdly, "I've been doing this a while now. I can handle this; please, just stay." He made to leave again, and Scott sent the Sheriff an apologetic look.

"Stiles-"

"Dad!" Stiles let roar again, an unusual outburst. "Please, just go to bed!"

The alpha and the boy left the house together, leaving a lonely Sheriff behind with nothing but a bottle of worry and his own thoughts. But Stiles couldn't worry about his dad's feelings right then – as long as he was safe – for the night was cold, and something was happening. Both boys took to the jeep, which creaked to life, before heading off towards the blackness of the forest.

* * *

Scott waited the whole of five minutes before he asked.

"Dude, what the hell?"

"What?" Stiles asked, focus still on the road. He'd crashed his jeep once, and didn't want a repeat episode. It hadn't been easy convinces his dad to cover the repairs.

"Snapping at your dad like that – that's not you, Stiles"

"I had to make him stay" was the short reply.

"You didn't have to do it like that" Scott pointed out, "he could have helped."

"No!" Stiles shouted, finally breaking his gaze on the road to look over at Scott. Guilt was plastered over his face, but there was a finality there too, and with that a confidence. "I nearly lost him. Now, I'm more than happy to save your sorry ass running around fighting monsters, but not him. Not him"

"I know you're scared for him, but-"

"No 'buts' Scott" Stiles said, scarily calm, "Through all this, I haven't asked you for much. But I'm asking this – as far as we can, leave my dad out of it."

Scott nodded back sombrely, "okay."

A stifling quiet filled the jeep again for a few minutes, the driver solely focused on driving again. He was afraid, for his father, and his friends, but disliked admitting it. Shame weighed him down as he refused to meet Scott's eye again. Luckily for him, Scott understood better than most – he felt the same way about his mom. The same fierce protectiveness is what made the two boys such a good team.

Scott used the break to just look. It was his nature to see things people missed; and he knew his friend better than anyone in the world, except perhaps the Sheriff. Stiles looked different, as Scott watched him driving. Although he was the one always pulling Scott back, always having his back on a bad day, Stiles too was suffering. They'd all been marked by the sacrifice.

Stiles fingers drummed the steering wheel, but not impatiently, nervously. Fear twitched his face and fingers, like he was expecting something to happen any minute – the hyper-vigilance was back. His eyes flicked quickly from side to side, always moving, and were ringed with dark creases. Was he not sleeping?

"How come you knew so quickly that there had been a murder? Did your dad wake you?"

A definite flinch crossed his friend's face, revealing the truth even though his mouth lied, "I heard the door shut and went down to see why he was back so late."

"Liar" Scott said.

"Am not!"

"I can hear your heartbeat"

"And the creepy stalker werewolf senses are back" Stiles deadpanned. He wasn't going to unload on Scott; his mate had enough to worry about. He was figuring out how to be an alpha; they'd just won a big battle – why couldn't they get a break? So no, he wouldn't say a word about the nightmares, or the fact he hadn't slept in two days. Or how he was afraid of the moments he closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to say it aloud; he kept to his 'ignoring problems' policy and stayed his words.

"-Stiles"

"What? So I was awake, I had one too many espresso's today."

"You're still lying!"

"Maybe my heartbeat's fast from the coffee"

"Maybe you're not sleeping"

"Maybe you're losing your touch" Stiles said, earning him a mocking shocked gasp, and suddenly they were just friends messing with each other again. Scott, sensing it wouldn't get him anywhere, backed down, laughing off the insult with a light 'we can test that theory with my claws if you want'.

* * *

Stiles pulled up at the edge of the trees, standing on the side of the road and glancing around apprehensively. Scott came around and joined him.

"Hear anything?" Stiles asked, and Scott shook his head.

"Not even a heartbeat"

"Well that's not creepy at all" Stiles added, "check further in?"

Scott nodded, "You'd better wait here."

"Va te faire voir"

"Since when do you pay attention in class?"

"Since I spent so much time saving your fury as that I don't even have the energy to not pay attention" Stiles went to the back of his jeep and pulled out his old lacrosse stick, long time unused. He missed it a little, he guessed, but some things were more important. "Look, I'm sorted."

"Colour me terrified" Scott answered, eyeing the stick sceptically.

Stile hit in on the head with the stick. "Ouch!" Scott moaned. His friend just laughed rather nervously.

* * *

Forests at night? Creepy.

Forests at night where someone has been brutally murdered and you're hunting the killer? Terrifying.

The leaves around them dripped from the recent rains, filling the air with sound and making the paths harder to navigate. They were concentrating so hard on keeping their footing that tracking the creature or whatever it was at all seemed impossible. In the pitch blackness, they could barely make out the grasping arms of the trees surrounding them, trapping them in the heart of the darkness, let alone see anything coming. It was stupid and dangerous.

"Where are we heading?" Scott asked, after following Stiles for about thirty minutes, sniffing the air every few minutes. With the rain, there was hardly a smell to find – it was hopeless to even try.

"I don't know, I guess I was just heading towards somewhere we know," he pointed ahead and to the right, "the old Hale house is just over there."

Scott smirked, "now there's some memories."

"Tell me about it. How many times have we almost died there?"

"I've lost count"

Coming into the clearing, they made it to the steps outside the old burnt out shack and stopped, glancing around. From their safe place, somewhere they had always survived and won in, the forest didn't seem so scary. It was long empty. Derek had left over a month ago; this old relic of what Beacon Hills used to be like was just gathering dust.

"Where did they find the body?" Scott asked, his voice sounding small in the vastness of the forest.

"Not far away, maybe half a mile south from here"

"This is close enough then."

Scott stopped on the front steps and closed his eyes. Using all of his senses to his best ability, he smelled the air and strained his ears. Twisting his head like a puppy, he tried to pick up something – anything – that could tell him if there was anything nearby. A heartbeat; a snap of a twig; breathing; shouting; he'd even take a scream for a chance to catch whatever was capable of the photos he'd seen just an hour ago.

While Scott was doing his wolfy thing, Stiles slowly wandered around the sides of the house, steps quiet and shoulders hunched. The air felt electrified: static like a thunderstorm, every particle colliding and breaking apart. He could feel it but not explain it. Something was wrong.

* * *

Something changed, and Scott's senses went into overdrive. A sound, behind the house, indeterminable like nothing he'd ever heard before.

* * *

Legs moving seemingly of their own accord, Stiles mind was buzzing as he walked to the back of the old house, not even quietly now. Leaves crunched under worn shoes, and the shadows lingered a little more on his face, but he was sure he would find something if he managed to just get around that corner. It was close now: all Stiles had to take were a few more steps . . .

* * *

The sound was like a drafty door, as far as Scott could make out: the cool air which rushes under a closed door, howling to be let in. Barely contained, it was getting louder and higher in pitch, screeching, screaming: a gale in a bottle.

* * *

In a dream, Stiles rounded the corner behind the house, glancing out into the trees. A breeze touched his skin, goose bumps erupting at the caress and sending his hair flicking from his eyes, which were hazy but wide. The darkness was impenetrable; he needed to get closer to see . . .

* * *

Scott's eyes snapped open in fear.

Stiles kept walking towards the shadows.

"Stiles!" the alpha yelled, glancing around to find his friend gone, but a wind which had appeared from nowhere stole away the words. Leaves were being thrown about the clearing, carried by a hurricane unnaturally abusing the spot, and he stood transfixed, it snatching his breath before he had chance to take it. _But Stiles was in danger . . . . "Stiles, stop!"_

* * *

There was something just in the trees, he knew it. Stiles tightened his grip on the lacrosse stick in his hands until his knuckles were white, drawn further in like a fly to the spider, a trancelike state embracing him. He was awake; he knew what was happening, but for some reason, he could not stop. Only his heart pounding in his ears anchored him to the world.

* * *

Scott came to his senses and ran full pelt around the side of the house, but the wind reacted instantly, throwing its full force at him. A scream of frustration escaped him at the wall of air pushing him backwards; Scott's feet slipped, digging into the ground to remain upright but fighting a losing battle. He tried to stand, but it was like a physical force shoving him backwards. His shoes had no grip. He was failing to get forwards. Flashbacks of breaking through a mountain ash circle swirls against his vision. It was tunneling out, going black at the edges – he had to get there quickly. To save his oldest friend.

Scott's foot moved a centimetre forwards.

* * *

As Stiles came to a stop at the fringe of the forest, one step into the darkness, he saw it; the force pulling him forwards, and the frantic beating of his heart stopped. Silence. Absolute silence struck the scene, a curse and a blessing as all was revealed. He could not distinguish its shape, or species, but one aspect of the killer became apparent as Stiles' gaze locked on something just in the shadows. A pair of blood red eyes glared back.

* * *

Scott made each painstakingly slow step forward, using every fibre of himself to make the journey – it hurt. Like having pieces of glass burned into his skin, it hurt to fight against the wind. But he kept going.

Collapsing on the corner of the house, shielded by the wood to some effect, Scott was able to see around the corner at the action unfolding – but there was nothing. The weather was still beating him down, but around his friend it was normal, there was no hurricane. Stiles stood with his back to the house, gripping his stick and staring at something just out of Scott's view.

Even with the strength of the wind, Scott could hear his friend's heartbeat. It was fast – too fast to be healthy, but as he listened, it slowed to an unnaturally slow pace. It had almost stopped, in fact, a drumbeat to a funeral march.

"Stiles!" he yelled again, and the storm was broken with a flash of lightning. Blinding white filled the earth, and Scott was thrown backwards ten feet into the leaves. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was Stiles dropping to the floor like a dead weight.

* * *

"Scott? Scotty, talk to me. Wake up buddy" Scott awoke to Stiles shaking his shoulders, vision blurred but recovering quickly he jumped to his feet, both of them looking around apprehensively.

"What happened?" his friend asked. Stiles was looking around the clearing in confusion: it was chaos with a scattering of destruction; a crater had been carved around them, like a bomb had gone off. But the Hale house remained standing.

"I should be asking you that"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Stiles demanded, not liking the new intensity Scott was staring at him with. "I know it's your wolfy prerogative to be all mysterious, but c'mon man, I was with you the whole time. I was on the steps with you, remember?" He pointed towards the house.

"Stiles, you wandered off and found something, I think. I followed you" Scott said, coming closer to look his friend in the face. Stiles' eyes were glistening and wide, confusion betrayed by a flash of horror which didn't quite unravel all the way. Stiles' heart was steady: as far as he knew, he was telling the truth.

Scott spoke slowly, "There was a storm, it was so strong – I couldn't get to you. You saw something, and then it was like an explosion. You weren't with me. Stiles, your heartbeat was scared, really fast; then almost stopped – what did you see?"

His friend's eyes were flicking, trying to remember as his face scrunched up. Stiles didn't know; he knew he had been with Scott, but then had woken up away from his friend he's assumed he'd just been thrown further by the lightning flash – but there was a grey gap in between the moments. But even as he scanned his mind, his heart quickened in half-known fear.

"I- I don't, I don't remember-"

* * *

The next day, the Argent's got an unexpected house call from Scott and Stiles.

"How can I help you boys?" Chris Argent asked, opening the door to the serious looking teens.

"With whatever knowledge you might have about a creature capable of tearing a man in two" Scott had replied. Chris had let them in.

"Hey, whats going on?" Allison had said upon entering her kitchen to find her ex and his friend at the table, deep in conversation with her father. Isaac followed her in.

"Nothing, sweetheart" Chris argent said, just as Stiles also said.

"-Someone got killed in the woods."

When the older hunter glared at the boy, he flushed red, muttering a quick, "sorry."

Allison rolled her eyes, "Thank you, Stiles."

"We went there last night, but couldn't find anything. We were sort of hoping your dad could shed some light in what it might be" Scott explained further.

"Why didn't you call me? I could have helped!" Isaac looked offended, coming closer and standing near Scott.

"We were fine. You were out"

"So, do you know anything?" Allison asked her dad, hastily changing the subject.

Chris Argent sighed, "No. We don't think it was another wolf, but I have no idea what it is."

"Did you chest the bestiary?"

"Of course"

"And?"

"It's a big book, Allison. I'm still looking."

She set her jaw, "What can I do to help?"

"Stay out of trouble"

"_Dad_"

"We're setting up a patrol" Scott interjected, "at nights, one of us is going to wait by the reserve in case anything happens" Scott glanced over at his friend, "that way the cops don't have to do it – we know more than they do."

"Okay" Isaac and Allison said in unison.

"And until something else happens-" Scott started.

"We'll just have to keep looking" Stiles finished grimly, pulling the old book between them in front of him. It wasn't the best of plans.

* * *

"They found another body" Allison greeted Lydia at the mall, and the other girls brow creased. The crowds around them were mulling through the brightly lit stores, not a care in the world. Lydia didn't look so easy of mind.

"I know" the blonde's face was unsettled briefly, "I saw it."

Allison lips twitched in sympathy, "you alright?"

"Yeah, I just _love_ seeing people dead, didn't you know?"

"It's okay to admit it if you're not"

More kindly, Lydia relented, "I'm dealing with it. And we all know retail therapy is my favourite." She linked her arm with Allison's, glancing around the mall as if sizing it up. "Shall we?"

"What are we even here for?"

"Is it possible to ever have enough shoes?" Lydia asked.

Allison cracked a smile for her benefit, "never."

* * *

"There's nothing here!" Scott said frustrated, pushing his fingers through his thick hair in annoyance. The bestiary was coming up with a big fat nothing.

"What exactly happened last night?" Chris Argent asked from across the table they were all sitting at, causing Isaac to look up curiously.

"We were in the forest and-"

"-Scott" Stiles cut in, shaking his head slightly at him. He didn't want anyone knowing about his lost memory.

"We don't know" Scott amended, and in fairness, it was the truth.

"That's a lie" Mr. Argent stated bluntly.

"It really isn't" Stiles said irritably.

"I live with a teenage girl – I know when I'm being lied to."

A sigh escaped the teenagers. "Fine," Stiles said, "we don't know what happened – because I don't remember."

Mr. Argent looked at him thoughtfully, taking in the glassy eyes and splayed hands. "Now there's the truth."

"We were at the old Hale house, and while Scott was using his super-smell to look for whatever it was – apparently I wandered off"

"There was a storm," Scott cut in, "I heard a sound like wind and when I looked around Stiles was gone. I tried to follow him to the back of the house, but there was this hurricane; it pushed me back. When I was close enough to see Stiles was just standing there but his heart was racing. We think," Scott tactfully paused and the pair shared a look, "_I_ think he saw something."

"I don't remember" Stiles added, looking at his hands, which were noticeably trembling.

The listening people had been silent through all of this, but spoke up now.

"Are you okay?" Isaac asked.

Scott nodded, and it was taken for an answer from both of them.

"If you boys were out all night, perhaps you should go home and get some sleep" Chris Argent suggested. Mostly he was seen as a hunter; sometimes they forgot he was a father too. "Me and Isaac," he paused as if to ask for consent, and the young beta nodded, "will stay here and keep looking through the information we have."

"But-" Scott started.

"Go," he returned, "I'm no amateur, you know. I can do this by myself"

"You'll call us if you find anything?"

"Of course" Isaac said. "He's right. If we find anything, we'll need you fresh to help us."

"Alright," Stiles said, and he and Scott made to leave, before pausing at the door, "Just make sure my dad stays out of trouble."

He and Scott went different ways outside the Argent's house. Both were looking exhausted and worried. What else was there these days? Scott's bed waited eagerly at home; he fell into it at almost the same instant Stiles sat at his desk and pulled up the web for more research, and Scott, after having a talking to about sneaking out at night by his mother, fell immediately asleep.

* * *

"What do you think?" Lydia stood in front of the mirror, eyes squinted as she scrutinised the outfit she'd assembled from various angles. Sure, the suede brown boots and red blouse looked fabulous, but she wasn't so sure about the dark coloured skirt with it.

"It looks great" Allison replied mirthlessly.

Frowning, Lydia twisted to find her friend slumped on the stool near the dressing room, looking dejected. Although known for being stony, Lydia had been through too much with the other girl to not care. Walking over, she sat down on the stool next to Allison.

"What's wrong?"

"People are dying – and we're _shopping_? It doesn't feel right" Allison answered.

"What would we be doing if we weren't here? Traipsing around the woods blindly waiting to be attacked? That wouldn't solve anything."

"We should be doing something!"

"We are - we're trying to keep hold of the last grain of normality in our lives" Lydia said plainly.

"I meant something important"

"If you keep talking like that, I'll have to abandon you. Shopping, 'not important' are you kidding me?" Lydia teased, and Allison weakly laughed. "Who decides what's important for us? We do. And with the lives we have, if we don't keep some sort of normality we'll go mad."

Lydia continued, "we go to the mall, we shop and eat and go on dates because that's what girls our age are supposed to do. Just because our lives went to hell doesn't mean we owe the world anything – sure, I'm as up for helping as any of you – but I still want to be me. So, why don't you go fetch that cute blue dress I saw you eyeing half an hour ago and be a mindless teenager for an afternoon?"

Allison smiled again, but now it was genuine, and brighter. "Thanks, Lyd. And that dress _was_ super cute." She got to her feet. "But that skirt doesn't go with those boots."

"I _knew _it!"

* * *

With the next day came the end of the weekend, dragging the dreaded Monday into the mornings light and the mundane reality that although the pack may spend their free time fighting the impossibilities of the supernatural world – they still had to go to school. It was a buzz kill.

"Wake up!" The Sheriff bawled up the stairs that Monday, getting ready to go to work in his uniform as he stirred his coffee in the kitchen. Getting his son out of bed was always a tiresome task, but Stiles was being especially stubborn this morning – he'd shouted three times already and got no signs of life from the teen. "Teenagers" he grumbled under his breath, taking the stairs two at a time, "think they rule the world."

Any resentment from the weekend had been forgotten, swept under the rug, all that was done was his son had come home the day before and made them both dinner, a simple gesture. Little apologies that never needed to cross the lips but touched the hearts.

"If I have to tell you one more time to-" The Sheriff stopped suddenly as he entered his son's room. "Stiles? Stiles!" Across the space in a flash, the Sheriff knelt on the floor next to his son's still form – the boy lay on the floor, his desk chair overturned beside him like he had fallen from it. But why hadn't he been in bed?

"Stiles?" he said again, taking his son by the shoulders and shaking him, but the boy remained sleeping. The Sheriff was no doctor – but he knew this wasn't normal. Stiles was unresponsive to the calls, even when his father slapped his face to try and wake him. Upon touching his skin, the Sheriff noticed how clammy Stiles was; the paleness of his face like a sheet of ice, the sweaty sheen clinging to it, only made more strange by the grey around his eyes and lips.

"Come on, come on" he muttered, going to open Stiles' eyelids, a last ditch attempt for this to all be just a mistake. But he wished he hadn't have done it – they eyes that stared back were unseeing, misted over – like a corpse. But he couldn't be . . .

"No" the Sheriff found himself saying aloud, "Don't you be – don't you dare be-"

He pressed his hands over Stiles chest and there, faintly, frailly, was a heartbeat. But it was slow.

Sheriff Stilinski pulled his phone from his back pocket, trembling fingers dialling the number instinctively. He didn't know when he started trusting the pack before everything else, but Scott was the natural answer of who could help. The kid picked up on the fourth ring.

"Sheriff?" Scott asked confusedly, before adding darkly, "another body?"

"St-stiles, oh god, Stiles is hurt"

That was all it took for Scott to come running, "On my way."

Scott hung up, leaving the Sheriff stuck alone with his son's body again. Stiles had started shaking, as if trying to wake but unable to: each convulsion sent a twitch running through his every limb, and his hands clenching by his sides. The Sheriff watched this in terror, seeing his son fight invisible monsters in his sleep, in what looked like a nightmare from which he could not wake.

"Dad" Stiles mumbled, and briefly there was hope. But he was still dreaming, mumbled phrases, gasps and half shouts leaving his lips, "please, no! Run!"

"Stiles, it's okay. It's okay" The Sheriff kept saying, but the reassurances were unheard.

"No, no, no, please no," Stiles muttered, eyes moving behind closed lids. The Sheriff couldn't bear watching the whiteness of his eyes, so had gently closed the eyelids again before. Then, as quickly as it had started, the talking stopped. Although he still shook, Stiles mouth stopped begging and instead twitched upwards, in what could have been a smile.

That was when Scott arrived, crashing up the stairs like a small elephant before bursting panic-stricken into the room.

"You got here fast" The Sheriff remarked dumbly, in a state of shock.

"I was at home – Isaac was the one on patrols last night" Scott answered crossing and kneeling next to the Sheriff. He listened hard, "his heart is too slow."

"Let me through" Melissa McCall came in after her son, a small med-kit in her arms. She touched her son's shoulder and he immediately moved out of her way, crouching at his friend's head with a pained expression. While his mother worked, Scott brought his left hand to his mouth and watched it all with worry.

Mrs. McCall did her thing brilliantly – checked the airways, looked at the strangeness to his eyes, checked heartbeats, pulses, pressure – but found nothing. For all her knowledge, she could find nothing.

She frowned, "there's nothing wrong with him."

"There must be!" the Sheriff yelled.

"His entire major organ systems are working fine: he's breathing, his blood pressure is normal, there is nothing medically wrong with him – I mean, the heartbeats slower than usual, but it's more like he's sleeping than anything."

"Then why won't he wake up?"

Mrs. McCall looked up desperately, "I don't know. We should take him to the hospital."

"No" Scott interrupted, "-Deatons. If it's not medical, then it will be the _other thing_, and Deaton's the only one who knows about that stuff."

It was a question to the Sheriff mostly, asking if he had permission to take Stiles there. The Sheriff nodded back, "Help me get him to the car."

Between the two of them, carrying the boy between them, Scott and the Sheriff managed to get Stiles to the McCall's car, Melissa McCall waiting to speed off as soon as they were done. Bundling him into the backseat, the Sheriff jumped in after his son, Scott in the front seat - and they were off. It didn't matter that they ran three red lights on the way, or that they had to swerve to avoid a dog at one point: all that mattered was getting there. It didn't take long, and then Scott was half dragging his best friend through the front doors and collapsing on the front mat. His boss, looking up from the paperwork he was going through, knew he should be getting used to sights like this by now.

"Something's wrong with Stiles!" Scott yelled, desperately pleading for help.

"Right. Bring him in"

They were almost to salvation, Stiles arm wrapped around Scott's neck as the young wolf held him up when the doors to the clinic swung open again, emitting an out of breath Isaac. The beta took it all in quickly, eyes fearfully passing over the unconscious Stiles and the parents before resting on Scott, his alpha. Isaac wished he had good news, he wished he could do something to relieve the panic on the alpha's face or at least help. But he had other things to tell.

"Scott, I just saw the creature up at the reserve – it was heading towards a camping site by the creek. I don't know what's happening here, but this might be our only chance – if we don't go now-"

"People are going to die" Scott finished blandly, glancing from the other werewolf to his friend, who looked like death in his state. It looked like whatever he decided; someone was going to get hurt. It was an impossible decision.

"If we're going to save those people; catch that . . . thing" Isaac shuddered, "we've got to go – now!"

* * *

**A/N: **_well, there it is! I hope anyone who read this far liked it, and feel free to leave any comments here or my tumblr - they're much appreciated. Only my 2nd teen wolf fic so I hope it's not to OOC or anything. Sorry about the sort of cliffhanger at the end, but tune in next week for the next chapter! & in case anyone was wondering, what Stiles says is"go to hell" in french to Scott in this chapter - Meg. _


	2. Chances taken, Chances lost

'Chances taken, Chances lost'

"But – I can't leave-" Scott tightened his grip on Stiles desperately.

"There are kids at that campsite!"

"I can't-"

"They'll die, Scott!"

"He's my best friend!" Scott roared, and subconsciously his eyes flared the alpha red, making the other werewolf back down. Quieter, he continued, "We'll think of another way."

"I can go"

The voice belonged to the Sheriff, but made no sense. Scott twisted to look at the older man, who was staring back honestly, if slightly abashed. "I can use my badge to scare those campers off – tell them there was a bear sighting or something" he explained, "this is your world, Scott. I'm not much good here, but I can do something."

"We need to go now then, I can hang back in case anything happens" Isaac offered.

"Okay then" Scott agreed, "Call Lydia and ask her to cover for us at school – I'm going to bring the Argents here."

"Why?"

"They might know something more about what could cause this"

"I hope you find something" Isaac said softly, looking at Stiles' shaking form. Scott might be his alpha, but he had come to appreciate the weirder of the friends too. Sure, he might talk too much, but nobody could deny Stiles was brave anymore. He'd saved Isaac from being crushed by the Darach's shack underneath the nemeton not too long ago.

"Me too" Scott replied grimly.

"Call me and keep me up to date, yeah?"

Scott nodded and the other teen started to jog out of the clinic, followed closely by the Sheriff, who wrung his hands as he walked.

"Stay safe!" Mrs. McCall shouted after them, worried about her other son and friend.

"Bring him back for me" The Sheriff said to the alpha, stopping at the doorway.

"Promise, sir" Scott answered. If there was one thing he was sure of; it was that he would absolutely _not _lose his best friend. Ever.

* * *

"Lydia? - Yeah good morning to you too, I didn't know you were so grouchy – anyway listen, - no listen this is serious" Isaac sat in the front seat of the Sheriff's squad car, bouncing around as they practically flew at the reserve, trying to get a half-asleep Lydia to listen long enough to get the message. "Are you even listening?"

"Why the hell do you people feel the need to call me so early?"

"Stiles is hurt"

"What?" Lydia suddenly sounded awake and choked, "What happened?"

"I don't know, really. I ran into them all at the animal clinic and he was unconscious, but I have no idea how he got that way."

"– I should go over there, maybe I could help."

"You can help by covering for us all," Isaac said, then hastily continued when it sounded like the girl would argue back, "Lydia, I need you to do this – the last thing we need is Agent McCall on our asses about us skipping."

"Okay – I'll cover, but why can't you do it?"

"That creature we've been tracking, it's about to attack a campsite on the reserve; so me and the Sheriff are going to try and stop it" Isaac explained, with a glance at the tense driver next to him.

"You're going alone?"

"We haven't got much choice" Isaac bit back a more sour response, "Scott already sent the twins to find Derek and ask for help, and in case you haven't noticed, the pack isn't as big as it used to be."

Lydia was silenced for a moment, which was lucky as the car went over a speed bump at about ninety miles an hour, and Isaac cursed colourfully, grabbing onto the edge of his chair like his life depended on it.

"Isaac? Are you still there?" He heard faintly from the receiver, shoving it back to his ear.

"Yeah, yeah"

"Call the Argents" Lydia said. "They could help – they're pretty good at what they do."

"Scott wants them to go to the clinic in case they know anything, and besides," Isaac felt his face flush, "we don't know what this things is and I – I can't put Allison in danger like that."

He could almost hear Lydia's face soften into a smirk, "of course. Take Mr. Argent then, I'm sure Allison can get information to Scott by herself – she's a big girl."

Isaac groaned at her suggestive tone, "Fine, I'll call him. I've got to go"

"Wait – keep me informed to what's going on?" Lydia sounded concerned again, for all of their safety. But one person in particular sprang to her mind. "If you hear anything about Stiles, you'll call?"

"Will do" he promised.

* * *

Stiles was lying on a cold metal table in Deaton's office. The vet buzzed over him, conferring with Mrs. McCall on medical matters and failing on answers. Scott sat on the countertop as they did this, close to Stiles' head and watching ardently over his friend, face blank and mind reeling. How could this have happened? Scott had seen his friend just yesterday, and although he'd been shaken, Stiles was fine. He always was. And Scott couldn't live with himself if that ever changed: through it all, every hard time, every breakup – there was Stiles. Even when there had been no one else.

Now, not even a ghost of the friend he knew remained. The thing about Stiles which stood out the most had always been his energy. Even when he was sitting still he was drumming with his fingers, or making snide remarks from the corner of his mouth, or waving his hands to get Scott's attention like a maniac. It's why teachers loathed having him in their classes.

The most terrifying thing was seeing him so still. He laid on the table, the only movement his fists slowly clenching and relaxing, shudders constantly sending his body into shivers but apart from that, motionless. The lack of animation in his face, in his gestures – Scott couldn't even bear to think of it, looking up determinedly.

"You got anything?" he asked, and Deaton's face was grave.

"You're mother's right, Scott, there's nothin-" he was cut off as Allison breezed in, a book in one hand and a worried expression. Her shock of dark hair was wildly curled, falling over her shoulders as she'd had no time to tackle it, and her dress was red.

"Are you guys okay?" she demanded, coming into the room to drop the book on the counter before going to Stiles' side as they'd all done. Pressing a hand to his forehead, she gasped, mouth falling open with concern, "he's burning up."

"We know" Deaton said, "I was just telling Scott – there's nothing medically wrong with him. Whatever it is, it's not natural."

"Which is where I come in" Allison said, taking the book back up and scrabbling for a page, "Isaac called; my dad went to help him, but before he went he showed me this-" She held the book open for them all to see, and the three crowded around to see the yellowed pages.

"Here-" she pointed, "we found these pages on the nemeton weeks ago – but look here, it's about the effects of exposure to the nemeton."

"Like our sacrifices" Scott said.

"Like our sacrifices" she echoed hopefully, glad to have some answers to give, "it says hallucinations and nightmares are likely – psychological effects."

"Explains this" Deaton said, "but what do we do about it?"

"There's not much we _can_ do. Basically, the nightmares pit us against ourselves. Only Stiles can win this – it will be _his_ fears, _his_ demons keeping him there"

"What good is that?" yelled Scott, starting to pace, frustrated.

"-Honey" his mom started.

"It's okay, Mrs. McCall," Allison snapped hotly, "as I was about to say, _me and Scott can help him_."

"How?" Scott demanded.

"There's this root from the nemeton, if stewed with some other herbs, that can let us walk into his dream."

"But we don't have a root!"

"Don't we?" Allison pulled a pale white piece of tree from her pocket, and her ex ran across the room and hugged her fiercely. "Idiot, get off" she mumbled.

"You're amazing, Allison" Scott said happily back, releasing her. "How long to brew the creepy dream potion?"

"Twenty minutes – if Deaton has the rest of the ingredients"

The vet took the list and scanned it seriously, "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Isaac was used to running through the forest by now, but he wasn't usually at his top speed in daylight or alone. He felt exposed.

But now wasn't the time for complaining – weight settled from guilt of having to drag the Sheriff from his son, but there were people ahead who needed his help. He'd only seen the campsite briefly this morning; a few families who must have driven here from out of town, fathers and mothers, a few children playing with a dog. Isaac had stopped just behind a tree and watched for a few stolen minutes. He'd never had a family like that; it was nice.

Not that he ever wanted that. A camping trip with his family would never have ended well: there were too many things he could ruin or break for his dad to get angry at – no, camping was too risky. Still, if he ever had a family of his own, Isaac could imagine a scene like the one in the forest that day. No shouting, no anger – a dog to play with, and laughter. He'd like that, one day a long way away from here.

That was before he'd seen the creature, a dark shape moving swiftly a few hundred miles away, more shadow than definable being. It was fluid in its movements, creeping through the russet leaves by the creek. Prowl-like in approach, it kept its belly to the ground as it progressed towards the campsite, but was moving slowly, walking by the side of the creek instead of crossing it to reach the side the campsite was on. The thing seemed reluctant to cross; instantly memories of the Kanima's fear of water flashed through his mind, but he knew the nearest bridge would take the monsters miles out of the way.

That gave him something precious: time. Isaac had run then to the clinic, and now was on his way back towards the dark creature in the woods, wherever it may be.

Perhaps the only definite thing at that moment was the target – those families he now felt responsible for, though he knew he had no reason to. Isaac still had no clue what the creature was – it had been bright in the dawn, too hard to distinguish anything. If he didn't know what it was, how was he supposed to fight it? He was going in blind. And he didn't even know what was going on back at the clinic. Stiles could be dying, and he was chasing a phantom monster through a wood. _Sometimes,_ Isaac thought, _you just can't win._

* * *

Wheels leaving black scars on the road, Chris Argent braked hard, skidding to a stop on the bridge to the reserve. Jumping out, he snatched a duffel from the backseat and pulled out a long roll of yellow tape marked 'crime scene', wrapping it around the bridge entrance behind him. Looping it over the wooden frame, he made a tape barrier, hoping it would keep any more passers from wandering into a bloodbath. From the bag he also grabbed a remote operated censor, sticking it to the foot of the bridge. If anyone passed, it would be triggered, and he would know instantly from the matching tracker in his pocket. It wasn't much, but it was surprising how often fake police signs worked.

"Damn" he cursed under his breath, grabbing the shotgun from the duffel and slinging the bag over his shoulder, "I'd like just _one week_ of quiet in this town."

Loading and pumping the barrel once, the thrill of this something he had not felt in a long time, Mr. Argent took off at a steady run through the forest, no match for the wolves pace but not bad for a retired hunter.

* * *

"Have you got everything?" Mrs. McCall asked Dr. Deaton quietly, coming to join the man in the Vet's storeroom. She spared a nervous glance towards her son in the next room, talking to Allison as they had not left Stiles' side through all of this. Scott's face was weary; Mrs. McCall couldn't bear to see it broken.

"Mostly, yes. It's your basic, run of the mill supernatural garden sale" Deaton replied, with an attempt of a dry smile, but even he looked worried.

"My son – he's going into this 'dream world' thing, can you promise me he's going to be alright?"

"No" Deaton answered honestly.

Melissa McCall nodded and tried to speak but was choked, hand clutching in to her chest over her heart as tears misted her eyes.

"But you also know there's nothing you could do to stop him" Deaton pointed out, nodding at Scott, who was stirring the ingredients they'd already assembled in a jar. That made Mrs. McCall laugh.

"That's true," she ruefully admitted, a few tears leaking from her eyes which she quickly wiped away, needing to stay strong for her sons. She laughed gently, "I can't remember that last time they were apart longer than a weekend away or a week at camp."

A smile crossed Deaton's kindly face, "If anyone can do this, it's him. I've seen your son do things that should have been impossible, Mrs. McCall."

"I raised him right" she smiled back, raising an eyebrow before straightening, "What can I do to help?"

"Go throw this in the jar" He handed her a foul smelling leaf.

Gagging, Melissa held it as far from her face as possible, "it smells disgusting."

"Be glad you're not the one who's got to drink it."

Mrs. McCall laughed as she went back into the surgery room, and her son pulled the exact same face at the smell, making her grin wider. Laughing was better than crying in times like these.

* * *

The Sheriff got to the campsite first. He had taken the 'scenic' route though the forest to get there, drawing level by a tree in the clearing, disturbing the peace of the campsite.

"Is there a problem. . . ?" one guy, what he assumed was the father of the group, came forward but trailed off at the look of fear the Sheriff plastered on his face. They had said to make the 'bear-spotting' realistic, and honestly he didn't have to dig deep to find the emotion.

"You have to get out of here right away - a bear has been spotted not far from here"

"Bears? In Beacon Hills?" The dad said in a mocking tone, throwing his arms wide.

"This is a serious matter, _sir;_ we're evacuating the park until further notice"

"There are no bears here!" the man shouted, suddenly irritated, "and I'd like to see your credentials, _officer_."

"That's Sheriff-" he answered, flashing his badge, "so how about you make a move." Although he was trying, the Sheriff could see he was failing to overturn the scepticism of the campers, but he still needed them gone.

"I researched this place-"

"-Good for you, did that guide include how to survive an animal attack?"

"And it said there are no bears in California," the camper said, definitely walking on the Sheriff's last nerve, "what's next _– wolves?_"

Fortunately, Isaac chose that precise moment to run through the clearing with a typical wolf growl.

_Say what you like about the kid, _the Sheriff thought, almost smiling, _but you can't fault his timing._

Safe to say, the campers left pretty quickly after that, escorted by the Sheriff to their vehicles and running off with mutters about 'complaints to the committee' and 'dangerous animals running loose'. The Sheriff found himself thinking that Stiles would laugh at that story before his blood got colder.

* * *

It had been fun scaring the tourists. Isaac would never admit it, but he had been waiting at least six minutes for that moment to present itself, and their faces had been more than worth it.

Laughing to himself, he wheeled back, wanting to run through again but knowing it would be overkill. The Sheriff wasn't having any trouble getting them to move now. And Isaac swore he could see the older man stifling a laugh but being unable to stop the smiles curling his lips slightly.

"You clear?" the Sheriff said aloud, startling Isaac, who still wasn't used to him knowing. Of course Isaac could hear him, and threw a stone at a nearby tree to answer. The Sheriff saw it and nodded, saying again, "you should get out of here too, it's not safe."

This, of course, left Isaac without a chance to argue back, as the Sheriff did not have wolf hearing and was too far away. It also meant that they Sheriff couldn't actually know if Isaac left or not, and what he didn't know couldn't hurt him . . .

The young wolf turned, making to sweep through the forest a final time, in case anyone else had wandered off or got lost. Tired from the previous run, he was going more slowly now, visible as more than a blur to a normal eye; he probably looked like a poorly dressed jogger to anyone passing by. But that was exactly what he was trying to avoid. Mr. Argent was setting traps in every direction to let them know if any person or creature passed the 'checkpoints' they had decided. The motion sensors would trigger an alarm, Mr. Argent would get the message out, and one of them would get there quickly to guide anyone to the nearest exit. Simple.

Yeah, right.

* * *

Things went wrong around the time Agent McCall showed up.

The Sheriff was just starting to breathe again, about an hour after their three man team had showed up to clear the forest, resting for a moment against a half hacked down tree stump. He'd removed his hat, wiping his brow with stiff fingers and sighing. Then, a heavy footstep behind him had sent him drawing his gun, swinging round and leveling it at – that S.O.B's chest. Sigh leaving him as his eyes rolled, the Sheriff lowered his gun as the Agent's expression changed from shock to smug.

"If you wanted me dead, Stilinski, there's more subtle ways to do it" Agent McCall smirked.

It really made the Sheriff's blood boil: Stiles could be dyi- he was ill, there was something evil attacking people, and he had no patience for men as ignorant as the agent in that moment.

"That's _Sheriff_ Stilinski" he found himself correcting for the second time that day.

"No difference to me, I'm still the superior officer" The Agent started, "what are you doing up here?"

"What reason do you have to question why I'm here?"

"It's my job"

"And I'm just trying to do mine" The Sheriff said, turning and starting towards the edge of the forest again, fifty metres in the distance. As he hoped, the Agent followed. Dislike for McCall he might feel, but he didn't want him dead. He knew he had to get _everyone_ out of there – even irritating little –

"Really? And what's that?" The Agent continued questioning, hands in his pockets as he strolled behind the Sheriff, "'cause it seems to me that all you've been doing recently is counting bodies and covering up your kid's mess ups."

Though his face clenched, jaw tightening in anger, the Sheriff remained a stony silence, continuing to walk through the leaves. He told himself he wouldn't rise to it; he wouldn't let the Agents get to him. Not now.

"Though it's only to be expected, poor kid never stood a chance with just you as his role model growing up"

* * *

Isaac's phone beeped in his pocket. Taking it out, his stomach dropped at a text from Mr. Argent, with a picture attachment. It was the wire in the east entrance – and the picture triggered was a huge, black shape, snarling at the light from the camera. That meant nothing good.

Bursting into action, he shifted in seconds, hair growing out of his face like some bizarre beard as his eyes sharpened, a lens like zoom pushing him forwards; trees hundreds of yards away could have been right next to him from how clear they looked to him. His hearing boosted a sound like a rocket ship deafening him for a moment – then his hearing was endless. He could hear a squirrel a mile away, cracking a branch as it fell to the ground under the small mammal's weight; a dog barking from a car on the highway; and two sets of footprints by the east entrance – the Sheriff. But who else?

Fully transformed, he set out at a flat run, skipping his usual jogging warm-up in favour of his top speed sprint. The Sheriff was in trouble; he'd take the burning lungs and ache tomorrow – it didn't matter.

The ground flew by in shades of red and yellow, a blur underneath his trainers, the trees next to him walls. Vision centred, he knew where he was going; left, ahead, fast. Swinging his arms for momentum, he tucked his head closer to his chin and sped up, streamlining himself as best as possible until he was sure he'd start flying if he jumped.

It was in sight – the squad car peeked from behind a very old oak, and the knarred roots of the tree took his feet from under him. With a thump, Isaac hit the floor, chin landing awkwardly on a different root before him, all of the arms of the tree in some attempt to capture or injure him. Groaning aloud, Isaac pressed himself up from the dust, gingerly getting to his feet only to wince at a shooting pain in his knees, the jeans around them torn open on the roots. They would heal quickly; they always did. But that didn't stop it from hurting right then.

Brushing the dust from his clothes, he limped to the nearest tree and held on to it, listening hard. When he's fallen, the speed at which he'd been running had made the fall further, and the impact harder. Momentarily disorientated, he tried to regain control if the situation. First, he had to relocate the Sheriff.

Closing his eyes, it was too easy – the Sheriff was arguing with someone to his left, not far. Jogging as best he could, Isaac crested one more slope of the forest before they came into view – the Sheriff and Agent McCall, yelling at each other as they walked towards the squad car. Isaac smiled: the Sheriff was smart, using this to get the Agent to leave with him.

"What did you just say?" The Sheriff suddenly stopped his charge, coldly speaking as he cornered the Agent. Even from there, Isaac Lahey could hear the man's blood start to rush through his veins, and saw the vein budge in his forehead. The last time he'd seen such anger had been the last time he saw his own dad.

"Let's be honest here Stilinski – I read the files, I know all about the trouble Stiles has been getting into, and how well you've been burying it – but my own son's name showed up on a few reports, and I can't have that."

"'You can't have that?' _You?_" The Sheriff echoed, "You lost the right to make any decisions on your son's life when you walked out on them! Scott's a good kid – better than you ever was!"

"And it looks like _your_ son's trying to turn him into a downright criminal!"

"Stiles stayed by Scott when even you didn't," The Sheriff roared, "Don't you say anything against him, he's my son, and I'm damn proud of him!"

"What's there to be proud of? If there was an award for sarcasm, sure, he'd get the gold. But apart from that he's pretty much useless."

Isaac felt his jaw drop. Sure, he'd heard bad things about Scott's dad, but he didn't think that anyone could be that much on an ass. The guy had left Scott and Mrs. McCall – the two best people he'd ever known – and was being a dick to the Sheriff about Stiles being Scott's friend? The Agent must be the lowest of the low, to attack such decent people. They derserved better than that.

Plus, he was fairly certain the Sheriff was going to hit Agent McCall now.

Fortunately (and simultaneously very unfortunately) the mystery creature showed its ugly head at that moment, pouncing into the gap between the trees where the two men stood. The sound Scott had described – the rushing wind – filled Isaac's ears, loud as Lydia's banshee howl. It seemed to be emitted by the creature's very presence; part of it's being instead of an animal sound. Whatever it was, they were right – it definitely wasn't anything from the world they knew. It was too dark, indefinable. Only darkness itself could have borne such as beast.

It went straight for the two men, and Isaac moved instinctively, re-shifting in less than three seconds as he ran, and leapt, a werewolf by the time he hit the ground with a growl in front of the police officers.

"What the hell-" he heard Agent McCall remark, but didn't have time to worry about it, throwing a handful of dust from the floor in the blood red eyes of the beast. It flinched back at the corruption, backing off slightly and giving Isaac time to leap towards its shoulders, wrapping his arms around the creature's neck to wrestle it down. Using his weight as a counter balance, Isaac shifted with the creature's own movement as it span, trying to dislodge him but failing. Letting out a piercing howl of annoyance, the creature leapt forward with a mighty bound, landing abruptly and sending the boy flying back over its head again.

Landing with the second thump of the day, Isaac could barely lift his head as the thing turned, lumbering away with odd-paced strides – as if it were injured. Isaac knew it was the best chance he had to catch it if he could follow it long enough to see where it went. He had to at least try.

Fast as he could manage moving; so the Agent did not see his face, Isaac took off yet again. Really, he was getting tired of all this running.

But as he set off, the Agent came to his senses, reaching for his gun and aiming at – well, he didn't know what. A mountain lion? Kid that needs a shave? He didn't know, but he was ready to shoot it. Isaac didn't even notice. The gun trained on his back, Mr. McCall's finger tightened on the trigger when –

"No!" The Sheriff roared, grabbing the Agent by the shoulder and wheeling him around roughly before – bam! A solid right hook to the jaw later, Agent McCall was out cold on the forest floor. The Sheriff shook his hand; Isaac paused just long enough to send him a look of gratitude before he was gone, off into the forest, chasing shadows.

* * *

"That's it" Deaton announced. It was thirty five minutes after they'd started brewing it, and their odd potion was done, "If the ingredients Allison had were right, this should work."

"Great" Scott said, grabbing the beaker from on top of the Bunsen burner boiling its contents, "I-"

"Wait!" Allison yelled, as he went to gulp it down, "you've got to pour some for me too."

"You want to come?"

"Of course!"

"But it's dangerous" Scott said simply, and she seemed offended he even had to ask.

"Yeah, I'm used to it," she answered, "listen, he's my friend too – and two heads are better than one. Give me as glass – I'm coming." She grabbed another beaker from the side, snatching the one from Scott's hands and emptying half of it into her own glass.

"Your dad's gonna kill me" Scott said.

"I'll explain it to him" Mrs. McCall offered, "I'm sure he'll understand."

"You don't know my dad" Allison muttered sarcastically, and Scott laughed. It was nervous, but he still laughed. His mom seemed to pick up on this.

"I'll see you when you get back, honey" she said, hugging him and dropping a quick kiss to his forehead, "sooner rather than later. Bring him back"

Scott nodded, turning to Allison, who took the chair in the corner of the room, "ready?"

"Down the hatch"

Scott jumped onto the counter; the only space left in the room, and lay down. Trying not to breathe in, because it really did smell like a sewer, he downed the glass in one, the green liquid oozing down this throat and burning.

* * *

The shape in front was superhumanly fast, but luckily, so was Isaac. A distance away, he managed to keep the creature in sight, stumbling down hills and leaping between clearings through most of the forest, until the creature ahead got to the creek. It shied away from the water, pacing a little and noticing Isaac approaching before it made a decision. It leapt over the creek as Isaac came to a stop near the other side, but as its form flew, it vanished. Halfway across the creek, the monster dissolved into black mist, gone in seconds with not even a trace left to tell it was ever there.

It was gone, really gone, leaving the young wolf quite alone.

Glancing around nervously, doubting the air around him now, Isaac stood panting for a few minutes, watching for what happened next – nothing. There were no new shapes; no reappearance of the creature; nothing. It looked like it was really gone.

But for how long, he didn't know. He had a feeling the thing would be back.

Scared, a chill started to creep in over the sheen sticking to his body, so Isaac started back towards the squad car. He could give Mr. Argent and the Sheriff the all clear – they were safe.

But why did he feel so unsettled?

* * *

As his vision blurred and grew dark, Scott fell into the sleep drawing him in, and when he awoke, he was dying.

* * *

**A/N: **_an absolutely freaking huge thank you to anyone who read chapter one, and an even bigger one to the people who reviewed! positive responses really make it easier to get the chapters out, so thank you so much. Sorry about the second cliffhanger! Bad, I know. Saturdays and Wednesdays will be update days from now on, so stayed tuned - Meg._


	3. Stone Heart

**Disclaimer - **All rights go to Teen Wolf and it's production company, including all settings, characters, and other trademarked parts of the TW franchise. (cause I forgot to do this before!) I am just a lowly fanfic writer and this work is not for any gain, just the enjoyment of other fans (and myself in writing it). okay NOW I AM SAFE! - thank you. Also, the poetry at the start is not mine, but from a poem called 'Easter 1916' by William Butler Yeats, & all credit goes to him. I came across it this week in AS english lit and all I could think if was teen wolf. Now then . . .

* * *

'Stone Heart'

_Too long a sacrifice, Can make a stone of the heart_

_O when may it suffice?_

_That is Heavens part, our part_

_To murmur name upon name, As a mother names her child_

_When sleep at last has come_

_On limbs that had run wild_

_- W. B Yeats_

The motel. Scott watched himself light the flare, the red flames spitting out at the gasoline around them, illuminating his face. Even though he knew his was just a dream; a memory, Scott felt himself flinching. All the flare would have to do is move a fraction of an inch, and they'd all go up in flames. The worst thing was his face: it was blank. Past him looked desolately back at them, cold eyes unmoving, and muscles slack - there was nothing. No spark, no sign that he was even fighting. Scott felt his heartbeat quicken.

His fingers had just started to shake when a warmer hand wrapped around his own, stopping the motion and holding them still. Looking gratefully up, Allison's kind face gazed back at his own, lips curled down with worry. A haunted air hung about her eyes, which he figured was mirrored in his own.

"We need to find a way out, or forward" she said, "he's not here."

Scott nodded in agreement, looking around.

"Are we in his nightmares?" he asked.

"I guess so" answered Allison, "This wasn't exactly a photo album memory."

Hazily, a memory of Stiles talked to Scott nearby, stepping into the gasoline and taking the flare from his friend.

"I never realized" Scott breathed.

"What?"

"How brave that was" Scott answered, eyes still on their figures, which were being pushed down by Lydia as the flare fell into the pool, igniting. As the explosion ricocheted around them, causing chaos in the memory but never touching their skin, a square of light appeared behind them, blinding and obvious. A doorway to god knows where.

"Think that's our ticket to Stiles?" Allison asked.

"Doesn't look like we have much choice"

Hands still clasped tightly together, the pair wandered over to the doorway; Scott looked back just one time, bathed in red, before stepping into the whiteness beyond.

* * *

"Where are we?" Allison asked, blinking to dispel the brightness until the doorway behind them grew smaller and closed, leaving them in yet another room.

"The old English classroom," Scott answered, nostalgically looking around the whitewashed walls, stained with all manner of mess, and the generally dishevelled room like it was a marvel, "they knocked it down before you moved here – me and Stiles spent most of our lives in this room." He smiled.

Allison, noticing this, smiled too at the change in him – going from fear and regret in the previous memory to wonder in seconds. Eyes wide and shining, Scott craned his head to glance all around the room, which was dismal by anyone else's standards, and for a moment she regretted not knowing him when he was just a kid playing in here. When she had met him, Scott had already been old, the bite changing him from the child he used to be; the situations he had faced since that time had turned him into a man.

But, if given the chance, Allison would love to go back in time and talk to a young, naive Scott; who together with Stiles could take on the world and not carry the burden of long years.

Her smiled faltered, "Why would this be in Stiles' worst nightmare then?"

The question was answered for her when two young boys stumbled into the classroom, fresh faced but not carefree. Obviously pre-teen here, maybe nine or ten, Scott and Stiles bounded to the nearest desk, Scott holding his friend up. Supporting the other boy's weight, he made it to the wall before having to stop.

"Stiles, I can't carry you anymore. What's wrong?" If it hadn't been for the seriousness of the situation, Allison would have laughed at the squeakiness of past Scott's voice.

"I- don't know, I-I c-can't breathe" Stiles, so innocent looking before the layers of sarcasm crept in, was leaning heavily against the wall, falling to the floor as he spoke: panting, chest heaving in and out, panicked and scared. A kid, basically.

Some maternal instinct buried deep in Allison was stirred, and she wanted nothing more than to hug him at that moment, to make it all okay. Hell, she'd do the same to their Stiles – if they ever found him.

"I remember this," Scott said quietly, letting go of her hand and walking forwards to get a better view of the memory, "it was a month or two after his mom died. We were nine."

"His first panic attack?" Allison guessed.

"Yeah"

"He's not here" she continued, walking the perimeter of the classroom and checking all the doors and closets, but adult Stiles was noticeably absent. She wondered how many trips down memory lane they'd have to take before they found him, and shuddered at the thought of having to do this alone. The faster they moved; the sooner they could save him from this. "We should go"

Blankly again, "Yeah."

Allison turned sharper, realizing she hadn't been paying attention to Scott close enough. He had walked over to his past self, kneeling next to the wall and watching them speak, expression pained. Young Scott was holding Stiles' shoulder now, speaking quietly.

"Hey, Stiles, what do you call a bear with no ears?" Past Scott said.

"What?" panted his friend in response.

"B"

The two middle schoolers laughed at the lame joke, Scott using the best way he knew how to make Stiles feel better – laughter. It was what they both did best. Although he laughed, younger Stiles suffered for it, the panic attack still gripping him. Past Scott noticed.

"You're gonna be okay, you know"

"How do you know?"

"You're Batman" Past Scott said brightly, rocking on the heels of his feet.

"Does that make you Robin?"

"No way! I'm Superman"

"That's true-" a gasped breath, "you can throw away you're inhaler when you put on your cape and fly around – but then that's your cover!" In his excitement, young Stiles got carried away and started panting heavily again, paling so much that it was a wonder how he didn't pass out.

"Hey!" Scott yelled, "if we're gonna fight crime, I can't have you acting like a grandma on me!"

"I don't act like a grandma!" Stiles pouted indignantly, his breathing improving slightly as he began to calm down. The two boys had been looking after each other for a long time.

"Then get up! We've got to get you to the nurse"

Scott picked up his friend again, and the two struggled from the room, crutches for one another again until they passed through the door and vanished. Where they exited, a veil of light took over the doorway again.

Scott stood slowly, "let's go."

"Scott-"

"-I've got to get him out of here" Scott said, moving past her as she reached for him and stepping through the light.

* * *

It was dark. For the first time, Scott and Allison could feel the memory around them as if it was real: a breeze cooled their skin; the scent of grass carried on the air, telling them they were outside even before the lights came on. In the darkness, Scott found his other senses going into hyper-drive to compensate for the loss of his vision, the music playing somewhere in the distance carrying until it was clear; party music, fast paced tunes ready to dance to were blaring, close but not visible.

"Lydia!" Stiles' voice screamed through the darkness, "_run!_"

The lights came up all at once: casting them into sudden brightness from all sides, and Allison instinctively moved to a defensive position, Scott subconsciously shifting to stand in front of her. It was natural.

Then the shadow broke through the brightness, making them jump at its speed as it charged towards them. A scream broke through the air. Scott physically moved in front of Allison, throwing his arms out to shield her but it seemed in vain seconds later – the thing stopped to attack something just in front of them, and the scream got a face – Lydia.

"This was the dance," Allison said in a scarce whisper behind him, "I recognise her dress. That must be Peter."

Scott nodded, still not moving from his protective position.

In front, Lydia was now lying on the ground, screaming as blood gushed from a wound in her neck. Peter grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her back when she tried to escape; she was choking, eyes wide with fear and pain.

"She looks so scared" Allison whispered, sounding horrified. "I wasn't here – I should have been. I've never seen this before."

"It's okay, it's alright. Just a memory" Scott soothed, glancing back towards his ex and gently taking her hand, as she had done for him what felt like moments ago. He squeezed it; she squeezed weakly back.

"I should have been here," Allison echoed.

Then, a voice broke through the tension – a third figure running down the field, right at the monster with blood covered lips. Throwing themselves onto the floor next to the blonde girl, who was shivering but unconscious now, shadowed until they looked up to plead with the werewolf, throwing their face into light. Stiles.

"Please, please don't hurt her" he begged.

As the other pair watched, the alpha intimidated and threatened his way to what he wanted – Lydia was allowed to go to hospital, and he had the boy in the palm of his hand, leading Peter to Derek and Scott. As Stiles, frantically yelling at Jackson to come and get Lydia, was half dragged away from the bleeding girl by the older man, the lights around them dimmed until only the locker room remained lit up like Vegas.

"Ready?" Scott asked.

"You know, you don't have to ask that every time."

* * *

Next up: they had to helplessly watch Boyd die again. As neither had been there the first time, Scott and Allison did not expect the blow until it came – the fight, and then Boyd was dying by Derek's hand. They'd both imagined it a lot more brutal, but the man looked almost peaceful as he died. A few words were exchanged before the alpha and beta, Derek looking more vulnerable than Scott had ever seen him; more exposed. No one, after seeing that, could say he did not care for them all.

But there was nothing to say, and as Vernon Boyd died, Allison buried her head in Scott's shoulder to avoid the view. He held her tight but couldn't avert his gaze. They had been friends, sort of. Allies, definitely. Pack, sure. But he had not appreciated Boyd as much as he should have - they had not been close by far, and he regretted that. He was brave, in his dying moments.

"I hope it makes us stronger"

As the light in Boyd's eyes faded, the boy fell from the alpha's claws, and everyone in the memory reacted, falling like Lydia or running to Boyd, as Cora now did, cradling his head. There was no way they couldn't be moved by what had happened. But by far it was Derek's reaction which was the most heartbreaking.

Simply, he looked broken. Staring at the boy's body, hands still stained with blood onto the flooding floor, bleeding himself but numb to the pain. He could do nothing but stay. He couldn't even look away. It was as if half of his world was gone, and although he didn't at the time, Scott understood now. Being the alpha meant the pack was a part of you, like a limb. Derek was feeling the loss of Boyd more than them all because he felt responsible, _and it hurt._

And his eyes were shattered. Staring but no longer seeing, a broken hue shining with tears.

Just as the watching, invisible pair was starting to wonder how this memory was here, Stiles appeared, crashing into the room. He had been running, and was breathing heavily – but it all stopped when he took in the view around him. Eyes scanned the room and softened with relief upon seeing Lydia alright, if fallen, they froze when he saw the body of Boyd. Everything in Stiles' body froze; he stood a moment before he moved.

Walking slowly, purposefully, he crossed the room to stand behind Derek, eyes on the body on the floor. He paused, which was a human thing to do. Derek and Stiles had always had a strange relationship: they fought and argued more than most, they insulted each other frequently, and honestly, Stiles was subconsciously still a little afraid of him, or at least wary. This is why he waited for a second, extending his hand and faltering before strongly placing it on the alpha's shoulder in support. It was a good act; a kind one. Unexpected but appreciated. He held on there, squeezing comfortingly a man who could tear him apart in a second, because he was human and understood grief better than them all.

Because as much as they fought, Stiles and Derek also fought _for_ each other; they were allies and even approaching friends sometimes; they went for each other to help, and there was trust there. It was their way, and it was dysfunctional, but it was in moments like this when it showed to be good. Not perfect, but good.

* * *

It seemed unending, this road. A flashback to not too long ago: a school with flickering lights, music playing in the distance and an abandoned classroom. Lydia, Jennifer and the Sheriff were inside, and in the memory Allison and Scott were on this side of the door with them. Allison half-wished they could do something, that if they stopped this now it would change the past. She guessed that was the point of trapping them in the memories. That was why it hurt.

Lydia was choking when the Sheriff arrived. In a hail of bullets, he tried in vain to take Jennifer down, now believing of the crazy story his son had spun earlier. He fought because that was what he did; he was a protector, a Sheriff. But it was too late, the Darach was too strong, and the Sheriff never stood a chance.

He had just been stabbed when Stiles appeared on the other side of the door.

"Dad!" he screamed, pounding at the door with balled-up fists, trying the handle and struggling against the blockade; yelling at his dad, at Jennifer, pleading and threatening, just wanting to be able to do something. But he couldn't. He felt helpless, left with nothing to do but watch as the Darach advanced on his father, and then they were gone with the shattering of the window.

Scott could see himself in this memory again, letting Stiles in too late and helping Lydia free of the chair where Jennifer had tried to strangle her, with pale cheeks and a red line cutting across her throat. She was scared, and he had been focused on her at the time, wanting to get her to Allison, and hospital, as soon as 'd promised.

Now, Scott watched the opposite side of the room during the memory, silently walking with Allison to stand in front of the window, in Stiles' eyeline as he looked hopelessly out of the window. But it still wasn't their Stiles, just a recent memory.

"This was what he was the most scared of" Allison guessed, "Lydia told me that just after this, they were at school and he had another panic attack."

Scott turned sharply to her, "they never told me that."

"We've had a lot on, it probably slipped their minds"

"But that's serious. He hadn't had a panic attack in years, if he's having them again . . ."

"Hey," seeing his despair, Allison stood by him again, smiling softly to reassure, "you've always been there for each other. When we've got him back, we can talk to him; we – you'll make him better, I know it."

Seeing no reason to stay, they moved on.

* * *

There was a dismal room only one of them recognised in the next memory: Allison's basement.

In a memory from a year ago, Stiles was thrown in, landing hard on the wooden floorboards with a groan. Realizing what day it was immediately, Allison flinched back, stumbling backwards until her back hit the wall. Her eyes were wide with fear, and Scott turned to her in confusion.

Glancing around, it quickly became clear what was happening, as Erica and Boyd hung in one corner of the room, restrained by electric pulses and whimpering in pain. Stiles saw them too, trying to get them out, to free them from the bonds before flinching back in pain.

"They were trying to warm you it's electrified," said a voice, and Gerard entered the basement, slowing and threateningly.

The two spoke for a few minutes in the memory; Stiles placing his body, perhaps subconsciously, between the man and his friends, still hanging in pain. Allison and Scott could only watch, cursing Stiles for talking back, as Gerard lifted a hand to strike him, sending him to the floor.

Gerard started punching. Stiles kept his eyes on the two hanging helplessly even as he was beaten, constantly flickering back to them as if to check they were still okay; he was still twisting and twitching to try and help them. He wanted to help his friends.

Forcibly turning his back on his friend, who grunted in pain several times as painful blows and jabs, face bruising and bloodied in a short amount of time, Scott turned instead to the still frightened Allison, reaching out to soothe her but she was inconsolable, so he stood next to her instead. Close enough to let her know he was there.

"What is this?" he asked.

"It was just after my mom died," she answered, sounding disgusted with herself, "I was running the family business – it was the night of the game."

"Stiles got beat up?" Scott said, sounding confused; he didn't remember this.

"He never told you, I don't know why. He might have been protecting me, or ashamed because he gets knocked unconscious soon, but he never said. Told his dad he got jumped by the other team"

"This isn't your fault, Gerard used you."

"It was my idea!" Allison said suddenly, shouting but directing her words at the figure in front of her, "I knew this was happening – he's my friend and I let him get hurt."

"Allison!"

"No! Stop, right now! You can't hurt him again" she screamed, dashing gracefully to where Gerard stood. Just as he raised a fist to punch the bleeding Stiles again, the girl put her body between them. As he moved in, she held up a hand – and stopped the violence. Gerard's arm was in her hand, and she glared fiercely back when the old man glanced up in shock.

"I said, you won't hurt my friend again," she said strongly, assuredly. She always spoke about being powerful in terms of fighting, but it was here, standing up against the violence for her friends where she looked the most powerful Scott had ever seen her. The memory faded to white, having been fought back against, and they woke up in the next room.

* * *

This room felt different than the others: whiteness familiar to Scott was everywhere, people sat around on chairs looking right through them, and the whole rhythm of the waiting room was to the soft beeping of machines through closed doors. The hospital – his mom's workplace. Scott knew the halls well.

He guessed Stiles did, too.

The pair walked closely together, making their way down the corridor, avoiding gurneys and children running around, until they reached a quieter corridor ending in a smaller waiting room.

"Is that-?" Allison asked, looking at a young boy with a mop of brown hair sitting on a chair too big for him, legs swinging in midair as he played with some sort of action figure. His small hands and legs worked quickly, unable to keep still as his tongue stuck out of his mouth in concentration.

"Yeah," Scott answered, "that's him."

"He looks so young."

"He was."

"That's not what I mean," Allison sighed, "Stiles just looks so old now, nothing like that. I always thought he was immature, but seeing him like this – I was wrong."

"I knew what you meant," Scott said quietly, "and you haven't known him long."

Young Stiles was holding an action figure, some sort of superhero with a great amount of reverence, clutching it like a safety blanket. As they watched, he made the doll fly about, focused intently on whatever story was playing out in his head. Used to the rules of the hospital by now, he sat quietly, out of the way, keeping himself occupied while life buzzed around him. Completely alone. But he looked comfortable; used to it. Paying no attention to their entrance, the dreamer kept playing, oblivious to anything but the daydreams.

"Sorry," Scott said, "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know."

"Really-"

"You're just worried," Allison said, smiling with a hint of warmth, reassuring, "I can see why."

"Do you think we'll have to face this next time we go to sleep?" Scott asked fearfully, but Allison had no answer. Hoping not, they both returned to the task at hand: they could deal with their own nightmares later; right now they had to save their friend from his.

The room appeared to be empty, but nothing interesting changed and no light blinded them from doorways, so it was clear this memory wasn't done. Puzzled glancing around, Scott's eyes scanned the room numbers until it found one he recognised.

Room 111.

"Wait," he said quietly, walking towards it, "I know where to go."

Sure enough, when he glanced through the dismal pane into the dull room, he saw what he expected: a bed, some blue flowers, a pale, thin lady lying on the bed, face worn but eyes bright and unbelievably kind. Claudia Stilinski.

And on her right, perched on the plastic chair, was Stiles. Their Stiles, older and familiar, sat talking softly to his dying mother. Opposite to what they'd expected, he was not a wreck from the ordeal of chasing through the memories; yeah, he looked visibly tired, but his face was warm. Affectionate, even, as he spoke with his mom. It had been a long time since he'd done that.

They couldn't hear the words, but Scott could guess how the conversation might have gone. Both mother and son were smiling weakly, Stiles' eyes red from more than sleep and Mrs. Stilinski as warm as he always remembered her to be. Scott had only met her once or twice, when he was really young, but he remembered her cheer even though she was sick.

"Is that his mom?" Allison breathed in his ear, making him jump.

"Yeah."

"She looks lovely."

"She was," Scott breathed, not able to look away from his friend. Stiles did not look scared at all; just a deeply rooted sadness brought to the surface again. A feeling only those who had lost a parent wore every day, hidden well on the insides of their sleeves. "But this isn't real; we still have to get him out."

Allison nodded in agreement, "think he's going to be okay?"

"Would you be?"

"No," Allison said, but then continued honestly and unashamedly, something she would not have said a year ago, "but he's stronger than me."

Scott raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Slowly, he clicked the handle open and gently pushed the door open. At their entrance, Stiles looked quickly up, reacting instantly to grab the clipboard from the end of his mom's bed and hold it out like a weapon.

When he saw who it was, his face changed from fear to confusion, eyebrows jumping up his face as his eyes squinted. Lowering the clipboard slightly, and dropping his gaze for a fraction of a second to eye the pretty pathetic weapon ruefully, he spoke to them with surprising focus.

"What are you guys doing here? You weren't here the first time . . . wait, are you guys asleep too?"

"You know you're asleep?" Allison asked.

"I just had a conversation with my mom, so I'm pretty sure this wasn't real – that would be too perfect."

Both Scott and Allison flinched at the words and their friend's hurt tone; his skepticism at something which had made him actually happy hitting home. He knew it couldn't be real because it was too good. When had their lives become like that?

"Stiles," Scott started guardedly, "you are asleep, and your dad couldn't wake you up this morning. He panicked – brought you to Deaton's"

"We took a Nemeton type spell thing to come into your dream, to bring you back. It was like you were dead . . . we have to get back soon," Allison expanded.

"Your dad is really worried."

Stiles listened to them both, face unreadable as he did not meet their gaze once as they spoke. His jaw tightened when they mentioned his father's worry, but apart from that he did not react, not even when they implied he could be dying. Like he wasn't even afraid anymore.

"I thought so," he said, sitting down next to his mother again, who appeared to have not even heard the conversation, "I had to get through all those other memories to get here, but I guess you know that." He paused, head tilting in an idiosyncratic way, wincing slightly at the thought, though he hid it well, "I went through all of that because I hoped this was coming. It took me what felt like days, crawling through all the crap and misery and _pain_ of the last few years," a tear slid down his cheek as he spat the words out, bitter poison from his lips. He jumped back up. "I just got here, it hasn't been long. What's so bad about staying a little while longer? Can't I stay with my mom a little longer?"

All of a sudden, he was eight again, a tear-stained child standing in front of them begging for time. His fists clutched at the edge of his red Henley sleeves, every muscle in his body tensed. Then, as he finished speaking, he finally met their eyes, and his were full of pain.

Scott breathed deeply, staring back before he spoke. He had to stay calm, but he was worried about losing Stiles here. Like at the motel, the boys had to rely on each other to pull them back, but this time, the roles were reversed.

Scott was talking for Stiles' life.

Because most people got Stiles Stilinski all wrong, but Scott was one of the few people who saw the truth. When they looked at his best friend, people mostly thought of the snark, the edge of steel to his every action, thinking he must have a heart of stone to be so unaffected. But they were wrong. Stiles' problem was that he cared too much, and knew what happened when you lost the things you cared for. He acted cold to try and save himself from more pain. But really, he cared the most.

All of the memories they had seen, and how many of them involved Stiles himself? Lydia getting hurt, his father getting kidnapped, Boyd dying and Derek's pain – hell, even in the memory of getting beat up by Gerard, it was always Erica and Boyd who his friend was reaching for – it wasn't a bad memory because of the pain, but because he couldn't save them. It was never for himself. Because as much as it appeared Stiles acted in self-interest, it was for other people that he fought the hardest; if he cared about you, he would never give in.

It was why the two got on so well. They both cared to reckless amounts and feared losing people more than anything. Together, with that amount of fierce affection, they were a terrifying pair.

There was a reason everyone they had ever faced tried to split up Scott and Stiles:united against a common goal, with all that love, they were unbeatable.

"Brother," Scott started, hoping his friend would make the connection, "I get it. I do. You'd give anything for these moments, I know you would, and I know that you would do anything for your mom. She knew it, too. But she can't hear you. This isn't real"

"I know! That's the worst part- I know none of this is real; she won't know this happened, and it doesn't change what did – but I don't care! I don't-" Stiles shouted, suddenly irate as he threw the clipboard away, clattering across the room, he was mad. It was funny, neither the hunter nor the alpha had thought of him as dangerous before, but Stiles looked unhinged. "If this isn't real then I don't want reality. I don't want your world anymore!"

He fell back, slumping and nearly collapsing. Scott made to help him, but his friend pushed his away.

"I'm tired of it, Scott. Two years ago, this would have been the only bad memory I'd have to face. Look at me now – all those things back there are what I see most nights. And it just doesn't stop. There's always another alpha, or monster, or goddamn magic tree to make our lives even more difficult. When does it stop, Scott?! _When we're dead?_ Or worse, when one of our parents is dead and we're to blame? When the town just falls one day from it all? I can't do that anymore. I can't go back to fight and fight and _never_ win. We never win. . . we just endure. But what are we waiting for? This is it – our lives – one big mess." It had been a long speech, delivered with tears and barely contained emotions, anger, fear and sadness all battling it out on Stiles' face. In the end, sadness won, as it always did: anger was a fuse burnt too short, and fear lasted only as long as the heart could race. Sadness and grief settled into the cracks of a person and waited for a long time.

"What's so bad about staying here when that's the alternative?" he asked. "My mom's here - my mom, Scott. I'm not much use back there anyhow – perhaps it's better if I stay."

"Your dad," Scott said, and it was the easiest answer in the world, "how could you leave him?"

Straight away, he knew his words had been the right ones: Stiles blinked hard, eyes unfocusing then sharpening, darting around hopelessly. He looked at his mother, smiling benignly at them all, a photograph memory, not a full person, then back at them.

"What if I just end up back here every time I go to sleep?" he asked fearfully, "I don't think I could leave again."

"We'll fix it. All of this," Allison said.

"How?"

"We always find a way."

"Can I say goodbye?" he asked.

"Of course, take as long as you need" Scott nodded, touching his friend's arm gently. He and Allison retreated to the furthest corner of the room, as Stiles took up residence in the plastic chair again.

He spoke to his mom, who had not heard the other words, or seemed unaffected by them. She stroked his heavily tear stained cheek, speaking softly, as did he. But it wasn't real, like mist, she was a mirage of the event, not a real person. All of this would just be a bad dream. She might act like his mother would have, and look like her, but it was not Claudia Stilinski lying there. But a memory was enough.

Stiles spoke carefully, "you see him over there? That's Scott. He's my best friend, and he going to look after me and dad."

"I'm pleased, sweetie. You always needed a friend."

"Thanks, mom" he said dryly.

"Funny, huh? Just like your dad used to be. I always loved his laugh."

Stiles forced a bitter smile; his dads laugh had been a rare occasion since his mom's death. He was crying, but was not ashamed. When he tried to, he found that he could barely speak.

"He loves you too, mom. And so do I."

"You too, angel" Mrs. Stilinski said dreamily, "they're right, you know. You have to go back to your father."

"What?" eyes unfogging, Stiles stared back at his mom with a new intensity, who simply laughed back.

"Stiles Stilinski, do you think I'm stupid? – Wait, don't answer that. I'm not blind; I can see what's going on. Did you really think I hadn't noticed that you're not nine anymore?"

"Bu- but how?"

"Beats me" she laughed, "you're from the future, aren't you? My little boy all grown up."

Stiles nodded, not trusting himself to speak as she reached up in wonder to touch his cheek.

"I'm not in the future, am I?" Mrs. Stilinski asked, and the flash of pain on his face was enough to answer her question, she stiffened a little. "When does it happen?"

A pause. "Next week"

"I wasn't there to see you grow up" Claudia breathed sadly, eyes misting, "I'm sorry."

"No," Stiles shook his head, "no, don't say that. I know you never wanted to go."

"But it looks like your dad did okay – look at you."

"He did his best."

"I'm proud of you both."

There was a pause again, longer than the last one. "You won't remember this, will you?" Stiles asked.

"Oh, I don't know about that. If there is or ever was such things as miracles, I will remember seeing my big grown up son, so clever and handsome" She dropped her hand from his face to squeeze his hand once, as he blinked hard to clear his eyes of tears. "But you have to get back to your dad now, sweetie. Gotta look after him for us both."

"I will" Stiles nodded firmly, "I promise."

"Good, at least now I know he's in safe hands," Claudia Stilinski said, "but I think this medication's kicking in – I'll be asleep soon, I'm sorry. I wish we had longer."

Stiles nodded, swallowing a dry breath, "Me too. You get some rest then. Goodnight, mom."

"Goodnight sweetheart."

Stiles watched as the hand in his own grew slack, Mrs. Stilinski's face relaxing in sleep, breathing to the same rhythm of the machines. Getting to his feet unsteadily, he walked over to where Scott and Allison waited, shaking and the flow of tears almost like rain upon his cheeks now. As soon as he got over, Scott detached himself from the wall and stepped forwards, embracing his friend. Relieved and worried he might fall if he had to walk alone, Stiles hugged him back, not even hearing the spoken words of comfort around him.

"How do we get out of here now we've found you?" Allison asked, looking around the room. Scott and Stiles released each other, the alpha keeping a grip on his friend's shoulder.

"I guess we take the door."

Stiles nodded at the doorway, which was now fringed with light and the sounds of the animal clinic; dogs barking and Deaton's voice. It was then Scott and Allison realized the truth: Stiles had known how to leave all along, he just hadn't wanted to. Allison went first, stepping through the light with ease, followed by a cautious Scott. The alpha raised an eyebrow at his companion for a second in private question, and Stiles nodded back. He was coming, he just needed another moment. Scott left.

Alone a second longer, Stiles took a final sweeping look across the room: the pale sunlight dancing across it all like a lens flare, making it seem more like a dream than before. Blue flowers his dad had bought stood in a jar, and his mother slept peacefully on white sheets. She had died a week after this. He looked at her face, committing it to memory; the creases around her eyes from smiling, the heart shape to her face, the way her eyebrows were resting in a permanent curious expression. His mother.

Time to finally leave, he stepped into the light, but was stopped by a voice shouting for him. Twisting, Stiles Stilinski stood surrounded by whiteness in the doorway, looking back in. But the memory had changed: his mother sat up straight in the bed, staring at him with piercing eyes.

"Stiles!" she shouted, "you have to close the door!"

The end of her warning was cut off, as the door of the memory slammed in Stiles' face, shutting her off, as he was forced back into the waking world.

* * *

Three hours later, and Stiles thought he'd scream if they didn't get out of the clinic soon. When they'd woken up everyone had been there: both his father and Lydia had hugged him and even Mrs. McCall had appeared to hold him. Seriously, it was nice at first, but now they were doing his head in.

Medical checks done then double checked then triple checked by Deaton and Mrs. McCall, it had been concluded that Stiles was absolutely fine. Then they had to talk about it for an hour.

The trio had been out longer than they'd thought; he day had turned to dusk by the time they awoke, the sky slowly getting darker. About a day had been lost; and another body had been found in the reserve while they were out.

"I called a contact of mine about that," Deaton told them, aiming his words at Scott, "a hunter – Don Fredricks, he said he might be able to help, or send someone who can. Is that okay?"

"Anyone who could help is more than welcome" Scott had said, joking relief playing out on his face, "but does he know about our . . . situation?"

"That you're werewolves?"

Scott nodded.

"Yeah, he knows. But Don isn't too judgemental. He trusts me when I say you're safe, that you're a peaceful pack" Deaton said.

"You're lucky, most hunters aren't that open minded" Chris Argent put in suspiciously, "are we sure anyone this 'Don' sends is going to be as passive about working with wolves."

"I trust Don," Deaton answered strongly, "anyone who he sends, I'll vouch for."

"On your head be it."

That had been about an hour ago, and Stiles had been through his story three times, leaving out his mother, which Scott and Allison also tactfully edited out. Now, the adults were arguing about what to do with the nemeton and the creature. Lydia, Allison and Isaac had all gone home, but Scott and Stiles had been forced to stay. To say that slumped in the corner listening to the argument had left them on the verge of jumping out of the nearest window was an understatement.

"Hey" Stiles whispered, "you know everything I said back there wasn't me, right? It was all strange and I wasn't thinking straight. I didn't mean any of it, Scott – this life might not be easy, but I wouldn't leave you alone in a million years."

"I know" Scott said, but a little tensely, "its okay."

"But really, you've gotta know I'll take it all, all of it, rather than lose any of you. You're my best friend."

Scott sighed now, "I know."

"Thank you for getting me out of there" Stiles said, and there was an extended silence for a while, but this time it was comfortable. They sat in mutual boredom instead of static tension.

"Hey Scotty?"

"What?"

"Shall we go get blindingly drunk?"

"That's the best idea I've heard all night."

So that was how Scott and Stiles ended up on a hillside just outside of town, up high enough to look out over all of Beacon Hills and make sure it was safe. As the sun set above, the last colour being drained from the sky, the entire skyline was turned a burning yellow. It covered everything: light, bright and cheerful, spread over the entire town. It looked almost pretty, for once.

It was lying on this grassy bank, looking out at the yellow, that two best friends drank for everything they'd lost, drinking for memories shared and downing a bottle for every nightmare. But, as it was, they were side by side, like they were when they fought the best. Together, on top of the world of yellow, they were unstoppable.

And that was enough.

* * *

**AN: **_no cliffhanger this week, are you proud of me? thank you to anyone else who has read and reviewed, you're all rays of sunshine on my grey life. I'm sorry for the sadness in the chapter- and the next few don't look too better. But, on we go! Next chapter I'm introducing an OC of Deaton's hunter contact, who is needed for the information and one other super secret thing in the story, so be sure to let me know if you like them in the reviews. They'll either stay for a short time or a long time, it's up to you guys to tell me. Hopefully you'll like them, though. Okay, that's enough hint-dropping, night. - Meg._


	4. One man drinking games

**A/N: **_sorry this is late! I know I promised Wednesday updates, but it's been a pretty hectic week. I had my BTEC Acting exam & rehearsals for it all week, and wasn't back until ridiculously late from college, so had no time to have this edited or update. I'm sorry, it won't happen again! So, without further ado . . ._

* * *

'One Man Drinking Games'

_Thwack _

The ball missed by miles, clanging against the stands behind the net, and Stiles Stilinski groaned. He'd been on the school field for about an hour, when he knew he should be in science, but he hadn't been able to concentrate in lessons all morning. It was pointless; but Lacrosse always helped him to relax.

Or at least it used to.

It was like he couldn't win that day: every time he tried to score a goal from mid-field, even without anyone protecting the net, he just couldn't seem to make it work – the ball kept sailing off into the stands. He was useless at this game mostly, but now it looked like whatever little skill he had had had vanished. It wasn't relaxing, and it certainly wasn't helping.

"Damn it!" he shouted as he missed again, this ball whacking the wrong way off the net's frame and rolling off into the grass. Stiles ran a hand through his thick hair in frustration before jogging off to fetch the ball. Every step towards it seemed a mile; he just wanted something to go right.

Ever since he'd woken up the day before, after facing all the things he wished he could forget, he couldn't shake the unsettled feeling hanging around him. It was in the drumming of his fingers as he couldn't sit still, the lack of concentration he felt towards everything, the fact his heart seemed a second out of synch with the rest of his body. It was the ultimate stage of unfocused.

The teachers thought he was being lazy, kicking him out of class for clicking pens non-stop or not paying attention; Stiles was more worried about it getting him killed.

Picking up the ball, he tried again. It was sort of their M.O by now, failing but still getting back up. Sometimes he just wanted to not get knocked down in the first place. Have an offence before the defence was needed. But because Scott was generally a better person than him, the alpha wouldn't have that. Scott would never hurt anyone before it was necessary, but while he had morals, people got hurt; Stiles hated his own self-interest, but he'd rather have their town protected than have the moral high ground. If only he was more like Scott.

"Having some trouble?"

_Speak of the devil, _Stiles thought, as the subject of his thoughts glided confidently onto the field, followed by a grinning Isaac. They both had their Lacrosse sticks, and immediately started tossing the ball between them, Isaac flinging it towards Stiles when he didn't answer. The boy caught it without even thinking, the ball sailing into his stick's net in the blink of an eye. Stiles paused for a moment, gaze slowly turning to the ball, lying in the net as if to grin back up at him. He had done something right. By catching it, maybe he had broken the pattern of bad luck he had been stuck in.

Stiles smiled, looking from the ball to his best friend, "not until you got here."

"Ouch," Scott held a hand to his heart, "I'm wounded."

"What do you guys say to a game?" Isaac asked, and Stiles flung the ball back at him, only Isaac's super-senses making him able to catch the quick and unexpected throw.

"I say you're on"

"Two vs one seems a little unfair" Scott pointed out.

"Oh, and here comes Mr. Morality, can't we just play?"

"Fine, but two werewolves on one team seems too big an advantage"

"An advantage? I'll take you all by myself!" Stiles shouted, brandishing his stick in a way which made Scott laugh, "But if it'll make you feel better, I'll take Isaac."

"What?" Scott asked confusedly, as his beta laughed and went to stand beside Stiles. The two high-fived, and Scott squinted, "oh, I see what's going on here."

"And what's that?" Isaac asked.

Scott kept the joke going, making an offended face, "Stiles, after all we've been through?"

"-I chose the better Lacrosse player?" Stiles finished, raising his eyebrows, "yeah, sorry. But them's the breaks."

"The better Lacrosse player?" Scott roared, hiding a grin as he snatched up the nearest ball and squared up to the other team, "_Now_ it is on. Let's go!"

As Scott held his arms wide, welcoming the fight (or game) that was coming, the other team shared a look before advancing. Stiles and Isaac ducked either side of Scott, tackling him to the ground before scooping the ball out of his net and racing towards the far goal post.

"Hey! That's cheating!" Scott called after them, getting back to his feet and chasing them, "That's cheating!"

The running pair only laughed, their sneaky tackle gaining them an early advantage; chucking the ball across to each other every time Scott almost caught up with one of them; they scored the first goal, cheering loudly and laughing as Scott dramatically cursed them and fell to the ground with a look of pain.

"Looks like that's a point to Team Awesome" Stiles said. Too busy laughing at his antics, they were taken completely by surprise when Scott scampered up, scooping up the ball and using his werewolf speed to flash across the pitch and score a goal of his own.

All this happened in about six seconds, and all Isaac and Stiles could do was watch, mouth's open.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Scott asked, jogging back to them and feigning being unable to hear, "point to who now?"

"Shut up" Isaac moaned, "you're distracting us from kicking you ass."

Just as Scott made a face at that, Stiles knocked his net upwards, the ball flying free and being snatched away by Isaac, who took off at a sprint. The rest of the game following in the same way: with lots of cheating, low blows, and bad jokes. It was stupid, simple fun. It was exactly what they all needed.

* * *

Allison was sitting alone at lunch. Scott and Isaac had gone to keep Stiles company, and were no doubt doing something dumb. She half wished she had gone with them, but she knew boys had different ways of expressing emotions than girls, most of which involving physical violence or sports. Neither of which she felt like doing right then. So she was sitting alone in the cafeteria, stirring the bland-tasting noodles available that day without joy.

With a click of heels, Lydia appeared.

"So, in this rare moment of quiet away from those crazy boys we've been forced to accompany the past few months, you're wasting the golden opportunity to actually be sociable by sitting alone?" she said.

"And hello to you too" Allison replied sourly.

"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine today" Lydia remarked, sliding into the seat opposite the sullen girl. "What's got our panties in a twist?"

"It's nothing"

"It's obviously something, and I have many ways of making people talk, although most of them are aimed at the opposite sex." Lydia smirked at some memory, "I know something's up. So spill"

"No"

"You'll tell me eventually. Might as well get it over with."

Allison huffed, but Lydia kept her curious gaze trained on her like a laser beam, so she relented. "I'm scared."

"Of what?"

Allison laughed ruefully, "Remember the time you wouldn't have to ask that?"

"Displacement! Stop avoiding the question."

"I'm scared of having nightmares."

Lydia's face fell, "oh."

"Yeah."

"Are you scared of having the nightmares? Or what they might be?" Lydia asked; putting her finger on the question Allison had been avoiding all day. It was just how well they knew each other by now.

"Both" Allison answered, "Stiles could have died, we think, if he'd have been asleep for more than 24 hours. But I know exactly what my memories would be, and I don't know if I could do that."

By this time, almost everyone knew what had happened when the three had entered Stiles' mind; the personal hell of memories waiting there. Lydia knew. There was no point hiding anything.

"And I can't stop thinking about what I saw in his mind" she added, looking down.

"Tell me," was all Lydia said, leaning across the table to catch her friend's eye.

Through her cool facade, a glimpse of worry played on the blonde's face. Allison was pale, shaking slightly as she clenched her hands together on the table. Even through her make-up, the fact that Allison hadn't slept was obvious. She had stayed up all night for fear of falling asleep, crouched against the wall to stop herself from getting too comfortable. She still looked kick-ass, in a leather jacket and the blue dress they'd bought on the weekend, which Lydia glanced over and silently appraised. But if anyone looked closer, Allison looked about to crack.

"One of the bad memories, it was from about a year ago . . . just after my mom died, when I went a little crazy" her lips wobbled as her voice cracked, but with averted eyes Allison continued. "It was my idea. We took Boyd and Erica to lure Derek out, I wanted him dead. I didn't care who I hurt"

"That wasn't your fault."

"I wish people would stop saying that!" Allison shouted, causing the attention of half the cafeteria to shift to them. Lydia flashed them a forced but winning smile, and they all returned to their own conversations, and Allison continued in a slow voice. "Stop making excuses for me; I knew what I was doing."

"You were upset – that doesn't make you evil, or dangerous – it makes you human."

"It was in the collection of his worst memories, Lydia. Me - my doing. I let him get beaten, hurt, while I waited upstairs. I knew it was happening and didn't stop it. He was a mess . . . I never realized. I've never apologised to him."

"Then why are you telling me? Go do it."

"What if he can't forgive me?" Allison said, a tear staining her cheek, "do I even deserve forgiveness?"

"If anyone touches his dad, Stiles goes nuts. We've all seen it. It's the same with your mom, he'll understand."

Allison shook her head. Rolling her eyes, Lydia got up, pulling her friends up and looping their arms together as she dragged them from the cafeteria. Allison let out noises of protests, but Lydia on a warpath was a scary thing.

"Wh- where are we going?"

"To clean you up, because I'm not having you waste a day looking that good by crying, and ordering pizza. We've earned it" the blonde announced, steering them through the corridors as crowds parted like the red sea to let them through, "then, we're going to go sit out front and look amazing for all the Lacrosse players who hang out on the front steps."

"But-"

"I know you've had that weird thing going on with Isaac recently-"

"I have no idea wha-"

"And of course, the whole awkward situation with Scott"

"We've been over for -"

"But neither of them are here, so we're going to have some fun" Lydia finished, twisting on her heel to grin at her friend. Allison, red in the face, couldn't help but smile a little at the speech. Despite being a banshee and seeing people dead all the time, Lydia was still, well, _Lydia._

"Okay. But get the veggie pizza" the dark haired girl relented, standing a little straighter.

"Deal"

* * *

Grass staining literally every garment they were wearing, mud coating their skin, the boys were still messing around on the Lacrosse field throwing the ball between them when Agent McCall arrived. Their game had dragged on, with no one keeping score or caring, for just over two hours. They'd kind of lost track of time.

"Shouldn't you boys be in class?" Agent McCall had asked, crossing the field towards them and looking pissed. Scott stood up a little straighter in anger when his dad appeared, and his two friends moved to either side of him, a proper pack.

"Looking great, Agent!" Scott called as the man approached, the black eye shining at them even from here. Stiles stifled a laugh next to him.

"You can thank that boy's father for that," McCall pointed at Stiles, whose laugh died as his jaw locked, "his poor work as a Sheriff let some kind of wild animal loose on the reserve yesterday. It attacked us."

"So technically, my dad saved your ass from getting chewed up and spat back out?" Stiles asked, and the Agent simmered at the words, "Really, he shouldn't have bothered."

"I could get your father fired in minutes!" the Agent said angrily, pointing at Stiles again. Just as he opened his mouth to retort, Scott spoke.

"That would be awfully unprofessional of you, _Agent_."

"I'll be speaking to you in a minute" Agent McCall said, turning on his own son, "about your choice of friends."

"No you won't."

"Excuse me?"

"I have no interest in anything you have to say" Scott said calmly, but his eyes were cold, "you lost the right to have any say in my life a long time ago."

"I won't have you being friends with criminals and idiots. I looked up your arrest record the other day to find _this one_ has got you both a restraining order! Now, I don't care if his drunk of a father is happy to let you two flaunt the rules, but I'm not!"

"Hey, my dad did a damn sight better than you did," Stiles shouted back, stepping forwards to square off against the agent "At least he stayed."

"I had my reasons for leaving."

"Yeah, you're the expert in walking away" Scott said, half-laughing but there was a steely undertone to his words, "I suggest you do that right now."

"Are you threatening me?" Agent McCall said, staring down at his son incredulously, "you're a kid, what makes you think you're capable of that?"

"Well, from the story the Sheriff told us, you actually got that black eye after the creature vanished, tripping over a root" Scott pointed out, the Agents instantly getting flustered as Scott's two friends burst out laughing, the sound filling the field. "So pardon me for not being terrified of your flashy badge and bullshit attitude."

The three walked past the Agent, who called after them threatening to call their parents and kick up a fuss, but they paid him no attention. Both Scott and Stiles were shaking with anger. But they forced a laugh, because they knew it would piss him off and make them feel better. Laughing until they got back inside, they counted that as a battle won.

* * *

Deaton called Scott about half an hour after that, when they'd reluctantly headed to their final class after being given a detention for skipping their previous one, courtesy of Agent McCall being a nark. They were sprawled tiredly on the back row of chairs, whispering quietly among themselves as their drip of a new English teacher droned on about something or other at the front of the class.

Saying a silent prayer of thanks that he'd put it on silent, he was able to click the 'receive call' button and bring it to his ear undetected, turning his head to hide the phone.

"Hello?" he whispered.

"Answering your phone in class?" Deaton chuckled back, "what happened to the straight-laced boy I knew two years ago?"

"He got bitten by a werewolf, would you believe" Scott joked, hearing a light laugh on the other end of the line. "You've got news?"

"Some. My contact is sending someone out to take the case; they should be arriving at 5pm tonight. I assume you want to come."

"Of course, if there's a new hunter in town I need to be there," Scott answered, "you're sure this is safe for the pack?"

"I personally vouch for anyone Don sends."

"But you don't know who it is yet," Scott finished the unsaid sentence with a sigh, "we still have to be careful."

"We always have to be that" Deaton said. "I'm meeting them at the side road coming into the reserve, the east entrance. It's out of the way and should be quiet enough for us to talk without being heard."

"Fine, I'll meet you there at 4:30 with the Pack."

Scott hung up, not even having to retell the information to Isaac, who had of course heard it all, before the beta said, "I'm in."

"What? What's going on?" Stiles asked, then glared at them both, "damn werewolf hearing, it's like I'm always five minutes late to everything."

"We're meeting the hunter who has come to help us tonight, on the east side road to the reserve, at 5pm," Scott filled him in.

"Great, I'll bring a cake and a big banner saying 'please don't kill us'"

"Keep up the optimism, Stiles."

"I just don't think hunters are the most trustworthy people" Stiles said, "Just look at the Argents – Kate, Gerard, they're not exactly the friendliest bunch. Whenever we work with them it doesn't end well."

"Maybe this one's nice" Isaac suggested hopefully.

Stiles scoffed, "'Nice' isn't going to help either."

"Perhaps you should give people a chance."

Stiles looked irked at the comment, but swallowed any untoward words. Shaking his head a little, he gritted his teeth and looked ahead to the board, covered in scrawled notes none of them had taken down, "We'll just have to see tonight."

* * *

At five o'clock, the Pack, Deaton, the Argents and the Sheriff were all assembled in the middle of the east road, Stiles' jeep blocking the road with its lights illuminating them. The reserve was behind them, harbouring the killer somewhere in its depths. Silhouetted and looking, as Stiles put it, 'like the crappiest boy band album cover in history' they waited for the arrival.

Five fifteen passed, and there was still no sign.

"They're late," Scott remarked to Deaton, who was the calmest of them all, standing with his arms crossed and patiently waiting. The vet made no comment, not even meriting the complaint with an answer. Sighing heavily, Scott returned to waiting with his friends, most of who were now lying on the hood of Stiles' jeep.

"What did he say?" Lydia asked curiously.

"Nothing" Scott answered, and several of their number rolled their eyes in exasperation.

"Does that guy just like being unhelpfully cryptic or does he have some kind of compulsion to-" Stiles started, but was cut short when a car appeared around the nearest corner, growing bigger as the engine got louder, nearing them quickly. All jumping to their feet, the Pack stood in front of the jeep again as the car approached, rolling to a stop in front of them.

Although the lights were on, too bright to see past and successfully obscuring the driver, the first impression Scott got of its owner was based on the car itself.

It was an old model, not as aged as the jeep but with more than twenty years to it, making him assume the driver must be old too. It was clean, but a thin layer of dust covered the front headlights, telling him the driver either didn't care much for the appearance or had little time to keep it clean. Lastly, he noticed that although old, the car was actually pretty awesome. Blue and white body oddly shaped, definitely antique looking, and out of place like no other – the car shouldn't fit anywhere, but stood out and looked beautiful. He had to appreciate a good motor.

"Hello?" he shouted, and the lights of the other car died. A shadow moved to get out, and everyone in the clearing held their breath in anticipation. A booted foot was the first thing to appeared, followed by a girl around their age. She had dyed black hair and high cheekbones; face plain but with an expression of curiosity upon not small like Lydia, she stood just shorter than Scott, but had toughness about her. She got out of her car and stood there, hands awkwardly shoved into her long dark coat's pockets.

"I'm sorry, there's been a mistake, we'll get out of your way" the Sheriff reacted first, making to push his son to move his car, "I apologise for the blockage."

"No, no, there's no mistake," the girl said, face turning to scan them all and landing on one, "Deaton? Don Fredricks sent me."

"That's me," the vet said back, not revealing a thing, "We've been expecting . . . someone."

"You were expecting a man, thirty plus, covered in scars and grisly looking?" she guessed.

"Pretty much."

"_You're_ the 'expert' hunter?" Stiles spoke without even meaning to, and most of the assembled group flinched at his lack of tact.

"Yes, I am."

"How can you be? You're what – 16? 17?"

"Seventeen."

"How could you be an expert at that age? Who are you?" Stiles asked, coming to a final stop. Everyone turned to the girl to see her response, and to their surprise, she did not react at all. No anger, or embarrassment or irritation was on her face; she was calm.

"I'm the only help you've got right now. People are dying in your town, and my job, _which I do well_, is saving them. I've been hunting for a few years, and I don't need you to question how good I am. Do you want my help or not?"

"But you're just a human," Stiles said.

She grinned wickedly back, "Human, yes. 'Just' – never."

"He didn't mean it like that" Scott quickly amended, "Stiles here has a brain problem, in that he's missing one."

The girl smiled genuinely, bare face lit up by the action, and even Scott would admit she was pretty.

"It's okay, I get that a lot" she said, extending a hand, any coldness thawed, "Stephanie Hannox."

"Scott McCall," he replied, shaking the extended hand warmly, trying to suss out the new arrival. She wasn't at all what they'd expected, but that didn't mean she wasn't good. "I'm the alpha, and this is my pack."

"But they're not all wolves" Stephanie mused, releasing his hand to look over the crowd, who were staring right back.

"How did you know that?"

"Well, those two are hunters; they've got several guns and knives hidden on their person" she replied, nodding at the Argent's who confusedly stiffened at being discovered, "I know Deaton's a vet, and I doubt the Sheriff could be a werewolf and not be discovered."

Scott nodded approvingly, "You're right. These are the Argent's; they're hunters who help us to protect the town."

"Actually, we were surprised to find another hunter who would work with werewolves" Chris Argent said carefully, without a word of greeting. Both he and Allison had come prepared for resistance, and he was having a hard time getting a read on the young hunter.

"It's not the first time," Stephanie answered coolly, "I tend to keep an open mind, and Don tells me the pack here is peaceful."

"How did you come to be a hunter?"

"Circumstance," she answered, "you?"

"Family business."

"Ah, carrying it on to the next generation?" she asked with a nod to Allison.

"Trying a new way, actually," Allison replied evenly.

"We all are" Scott interjected again; giving the Argent's a hard stare telling them to cool it with the interrogation. "The Sheriff and his son, Stiles, also help us. And Lydia here is our friend." The necessary people nodded politely in response to their names. "And that's about it."

"So, can you help us?" Deaton asked, "On the phone, Don said he was sending the best"

"He's sweet" Stephanie said, smiling slightly, "and yes, I intend to help."

"What do you think it is?" Mr. Argent asked sceptically, "Because I'm not too comfortable bringing a kid into a dangerous situation like this."

"I'm not a kid."

"Whatever you say."

"Well, me and Don discussed the details earlier and have a theory, but I'd rather not say 'til I'm sure," the hunter said, glancing over the Argent, "I'd rather not make an ass of myself."

"What can we do to help?" Allison asked, liking the girl more by the minute. Sticking up for herself about being young, and a lady hunter? Allison could more than relate.

"I need to check out a few things, has anyone got a map? I need to see the scene and one other thing."

"Then it's your lucky day," Stiles said, pointing at the trees, as the light was fading, "it's right there."

"And here's a map" the Sheriff said, handing her one, alongside some of the crime scene reports he figured could help.

"Thank you." She looked at the map, eyes scanning until she apparently found what she was looking for. "Well, we have to go through the forest anyway, so we may as well start with that."

Stephanie considered them all thoughtfully, lips curving in concentration. Finally, her gaze settled on Scott. "You'd better come. If you intend on staying here as a pack, you might as well learn what you can to protect it." With that, she crossed to the boot of her car, followed by a few members of the pack. From the boot, she emerged with a shotgun, setting it on the hood and loading it with strange bullets. Finally, she checked the sight, pumping the rifle once before straightening. "It'll be dangerous, perhaps only you should come."

Scott considered it for a minute, but then spoke, "my pack stays with me."

"On your head be it."

"Wait," Stiles said, "dad, can you stay with the car? If something happens, we'll need a quick getaway."

"It would be better if-"

"He's right," Scott admitted, "you'll be helping more by being back-up. Lydia, why don't you stay with him? You have our numbers if anything goes wrong, and if we call – come running."

A brief staring contest between the Sheriff and his son ensued, and finally the older man relented, "fine."

"Whatever, I wasn't looking forward to crawling through a wood anyway" Lydia agreed.

"Allison, stay with them too, you can protect them" Scott said. The girl looked fit to argue, but held her tongue. She owed Stiles to protect his father.

They split up, one group staying while the other disappeared into the forest.

The Pack almost made it through the forest unscathed. The boys had shifted to their wolf forms for protection as soon as they stepped into the shadows of the trees, and Mr. Argent had come prepared: guns ready. Stiles walked in the middle of the protected circle, holding a baseball bat. He was the most at risk, something he had been thinking about a lot. He wanted to learn to fight, and hey, asking the pretty hunter for help with that wouldn't be that hard at all.

"Wait," Stephanie called, halfway through the forest, stooping to look at something on the floor. A small tree had been demolished, like something had crashed through it, and she looked at the black substance around the edge of the tear.

"What is that stuff?" Scott asked, disgust on his words.

"Nothing good," she answered, starting to be more cryptic than Deaton, who had left before they had entered the forest, "where's the nearest river?"

"Not far, I'll take you."

The two left, leaving the others in their protected circle as they strayed from the path. Minutes later, Scott reached the river, turning to find the hunter following him, a few paces behind. In the blue light, she looked deadly. The girl crouched on the bank, looking at the water only a second before plunging her hand into it. She held her fingers to her nose and sniffed it tentatively, before licking the water on her fingertips, making a face.

"What's that?" Scott asked curiously.

"Taste the water" she said, a teacher. He obeyed, scooping a handful of water and gagging at the taste.

"It tastes like ash" he said, "what could do that?"

"Only a few things, which narrows down the list of what it could be."

"There's a list?"

"Oh yeah," she said, "The list is gold. Respect the list."

It was such a childish remark, Scott wondered if Mr. Argent had a point in doubting the hunter. But mostly it reminded him of himself, and he laughed. But it died on his face when a leaf crunched behind them. They both reacted at the same time, the hunter's instincts only a fraction of a second behind his wolf ones, turning to the sound and preparing for a fight.

The creature there was a shadow; like a fully changed wolf, a giant dog growled at them. It had blood red eyes. It leaped, and a shot rang out before its teeth could touch them; as the bullet touched it, the creature dissolved into smoke.

"Good shot," Scott said, turning to hunter with the smoking gun. She turned to him, exasperated.

"Run!"

The pair raced back through the woods, Scott getting there first and making the larger group move as the girl fell behind, telling him to get them out.

"What's going on? We heard a shot" Isaac asked.

"We've got to get out of here now" Scott said, "move quickly, don't stop running, keep everyone covered."

"Where's the kid?" Chris Argent asked.

"I'm here," the girl jumped from the trees, landing more gracefully than Scott could have, "what are you doing? RUN!"

That got them moving, running swiftly through the dark forest, chased by some invisible assailant. They'd hear a snapping branch or growl often, only making them move faster. Stephanie took up the back of the crowd, running backwards with her shotgun aimed at the trees. When Isaac let out a cry, only Mr. Argent was able to get a shot off quicker than her, but his bullet just bounced off the creature bursting from the tree in front of the young werewolf. Stephanie turned and let loose a shot while still running, and again the monster was dissolved.

"What the hell's in those bullets?" Mr. Argent yelled.

"Graveyard dirt!" the girl yelled back. Pointing at Stiles, she ordered, "call your dad; have him pick us up the other side of the forest."

Stiles fumbled with his phone, delivering the mumbled message as he breathlessly ran, and they made it to the end of the forest with only a few more incidents, Stephanie living up to her promises and being the only one able to hold off the assault. As they reached the end of the treeline, still running, it was Scott who saw the creature first as it led an unexpected attack, leaping right at the girl.

"Watch out!" he cried, tackling her out of the way. The rest of their group still running out in the open, the two teens landed awkwardly on the stone road, Stephanie only able to get her gun up as the creature pounced once more. Thinking it was about to land on them, Scott tried to shield her with his arm, but the shot rang out; the monster dissolved into a black smoke which overwhelmed them. Eyes squeezed shut, he tentatively opened them to the fog, and quickly released the girl as they both got to their feet.

"Thank you," she said, "you're a gentleman, Scott."

"No problem, Stephanie."

"Call me Steph," she said, "Let's catch up to the others."

They ran again at a good pace, both tired from the ordeal but thinking that out in the open, they were safer. Stephanie had a feeling the creature would not leave the forest; she was right. The pair caught up with the others where that road met another, all panting and looking worriedly around.

"What was that?" Isaac asked, hands on his sides as he doubled over.

"We've come to exactly the right place to find out" Stephanie answered.

"The outskirts of the forest?"

"A crossroads."

They all looked as she spoke, glancing around the land around them to find she was right; they were standing in the middle of a crossroads. As they stood watching, she knelt in the centre of the road and started digging, fingertips pulling up loose soil and rocks, scrabbling to get to something buried there. Drifting over, they all gathered around to see what she had unearthed.

The Pack assembled, they all watched in anticipation, as Stephanie Hannox opened a small, dusty brown box buried in the centre of the crossroads.

She opened it, pulling out a worn picture with dirty fingers.

"That's one of the victims!" Stiles exclaimed, craning his head to get a better look at the face, "I recognise it from my dad's files."

"What does it mean?" Scott asked, and the girl got unsteadily to her feet, facing them all with a grave look on her face. She spoke to Scott, and as he met her eyes, there was only wariness there.

"Sorry, kiddies - you've got a Hellhound on your tail."

* * *

**A/N: (again!) **_I wanted to do another note at the end of this chapter, again to say thank you for every kind word I've got over this story. Secondly, I was worried that by having the mystery creature as a Hellhound, a lot of people might be put off and think it will be too much like Supernatural, so I just wanted to make it clear - this is a Teen Wolf fic. Most of the lore, such as the 'graveyard dirt' I have made up myself, although little bits such as the crossroads are taken from what I've seen on the other show. So, please stick with me, : Stephanie Hannox. Yeah, a dreaded OC. I need her for 2 reasons: a hunter was needed for information, and I have an idea for a storyline with her which highlights several plot holes the writers of the show seem to have forgotten. But, if you all really really hate her, she can go. Or she can stay. You've just got to review, to message me - just let me know. The story is the readers :)  
_

_As a side note, I also wanted to tell you that anyone who wants to can come follow me on tumblr at ' ' & any question or comments are welcome there. And you can totally just come and start a conversation and be my friend. Anytime. - Meg._


	5. Front-wheel Flying

**A/N: **_again, I know this chapter's late (but only by a day this time!) and I'm sorry, but these huge storms rocked up last night and killed my wifi. Bad weather. Also, I apologise for any mistakes this week - my editor and best friend (laura) is busy cause of christmas and stuff, so it's just my own checking. Which is pretty bad. Fun Fact - alternative title for this chapter: 'why Megan should never write drunk'.  
_

* * *

'Front-wheel Flying'

"A- A what?"

"Hellhound" Stephanie repeated, but Scott still couldn't believe she was serious, "think demonic puppy."

"Sounds comforting" Stiles remarked dryly. They all looked around the asphalt road, eyeing every shrub with caution as if the monster would spring forth from it at any moment. The sun had set properly now, and a harsh wind was starting to pick up as night fell. Cold and dark. With a Hellhound on the loose; no one felt exactly safe at that moment.

"-I didn't know they were real" Chris Argent said, "I've heard rumours, but I thought they were just stories . . ."

"Sir, you hunt werewolves" the girl pointed out dryly.

"But Hellhounds? That's a whole other league of bad"

An indescribable look crossed the young girl's face, fleeting and masked in an instant. Scott would have called it guilt. "Tell me about it"

"When this Don sent you . . . did you think it was a Hellhound?"

"We guessed so, yeah."

"And you're the expert on them?"

"'Fraid so" she smirked, "Let's just say we got history. Don't ask"

"So what exactly are Hellhounds, I'm still a little vague" Scott asked, taking the box from her to look through it curiously. It was tin, aged with a photo inside, dirt from the road still coating it.

"If someone wants to sell their soul, they come to a crossroads. Bury a box like that and you've got yourself a deal. But when it runs out, the Hellhounds hunt you, drag you down."

"To Hell?"

"No, to Disneyland" Stephanie said, making a face, and despite himself, Stiles grinned behind her. He was originally unsure, but was liking the hunter more by the minute. "What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think!" Scott said back and suddenly the group was serious again. "How do we stop it?"

"With great difficulty" Stephanie was saved from having to answer the awkward question by the Sheriff pulling up in the jeep, skidding to a halt at the crossroads. Allison jumped out of the back, bow drawn like some warrior princess, and ran over, looking confused. In her dark clothes, she resembled the Hellhound, a shadow moving fast and swift.

"You said there was trouble!" She said accusingly.

"I think it's sorted now" Scott answered, turning to the other girl for the rest of the answer, but Stephanie jumped onto the diversion.

"But it's still not safe, we should get out of here" she suggested. Reluctantly, they piled into the jeep, driving back the long way to their vehicles the other side of the forest. Once there, the young hunter tried to slip into her car quickly, but Scott was faster, sliding into the backseat before she could complain.

"Everyone head back to the animal clinic!" he bawled out of the window, and the group dispersed, the Sheriff, Stiles and Lydia in the jeep; the Argents plus Isaac in their car. Scott simply smiled brightly at her in the passenger mirror, making someone who was effectively a stranger groan. Still, she started the engine. He beamed, "thanks for the lift."

* * *

"So, what's the deal with the new hunter?" Allison asked, as soon as their party was stowed in the car. Sighing, Mr. Argent pulled away down the road, looking in his mirror at the other girl's odd car. He looked worried, which wasn't exactly comforting to Allison. When it came to other hunters, Chris Argent was unexpectedly good at reading people and judging them. He didn't trust Gerard, and look what happened there.

"I'm not sure yet"

"I like her," Allison stated, more uncomfortable now but believing in her judgement. The other girl might be a bit evasive, and it was a damn mystery how she was a hunter already, but she didn't seem evil. "Just 'cause she's young doesn't mean she's inexperienced."

"Not all teenagers are like you, Al"

"What does that mean?"

"You grew up preparing for this, even if you didn't know it. The archery lessons, self defence – and you always had me and your mom when you were learning it all," Chris Argent said, "that's one way of becoming a hunter. The other is someone in your family dying from something supernatural."

"You think she's lost someone? That's how she became a hunter?"

"I know it. And that's usually how hunters go mad on revenge."

"She's working with us, isn't she?" Isaac put in, "if she really hated things like us that much, why would she do that?"

"And why would she save you all in the forest?" Allison added, smiling triumphantly. She really wanted her and Isaac to be right. The idea of having someone who completely understood everything she felt and thought; who had been through it all too, was a good one. Perhaps she'd gain a confidant, or friend, in the new hunter of Beacon Hills.

"Who knows? I'll admit that was impressive, but-"

"Impressive? She saved my life – that was awesome!" Isaac said.

"-But how does she know so much about Hellhounds?" Chris Argent finished darkly, silencing the two teens. The car was thickly fogged with tension for a few minutes, each pondering the words.

"I'm going to ask her to train me about more things than werewolves" Allison announced a few minutes later, "it doesn't matter how she knows things – at least she knows them."

* * *

"So," Scott waited the whole of two minutes to ask, "What were you avoiding telling me earlier?"

"I don't know what you're on about."

"Yeah you do" Scott said frankly, crossing his arms.

"Maybe I just didn't want to be the bringer of bad news" Stephanie snapped, irked. Hellhounds brought back less than happy memories. She was in a new town, where she didn't really know a single person, only to find what she was hunting was one of her worst nightmares. But she said none of that. "'Cause I don't think you realize how bad this is!"

"I'm sorry" Scott said, leaning back in his seat. There was something in the hunters eye breaking through her earlier resolve – panic, almost. Definitely fear. Scott wouldn't begrudge her for that; he was scared too. "So, what's your story?"

"-What?"

"Well, I got bit by an alpha, got chased to be part of a pack for a few months, helped Derek beat his uncle, fought a Kanima and then stopped the Darach a few months ago, and that's how I got involved in all of this" Scott explained lightly, like all that had been a walk in the park, "what about you?"

In the driver seat, the hunter smiled ruefully, dropping her gaze with a laugh under her breath. "How about you stow the personal questions for later, huh?"

"Maybe that _was_ a little tactless - _when_ did you become a hunter?"

"Three years ago," Stephanie answered, realizing she'd have to give at least something to gain their trust, and so the 'get to know your local pack leader' Q&A started, "What do you think of being a werewolf?"

"It's not bad to not have to use my inhaler anymore, but constantly living in fear of my life isn't too fun. How did you know Deaton's contact?"

"He puts hunters on cases. It's more of a people business than anything, when you get past the 'hunting monsters' part. Unlucky for me, I'm not too great with people. You ever seen a Hellhound before?"

"No way," Scott said, shuddering, he had not liked the beast one bit. In a way, the dog-like super sensed 'hell puppy' had reminded him of himself when he was shifted. No wonder people screamed when they saw him like that. He didn't want to become the thing he'd seen in the forest. "Have you?"

"Yes."

"-When?"

Stephanie shook her head, "you cheated: it was my question. What's the deal with your Pack? A little odd, don't you think?"

"Doesn't mean it won't work" Scott defended.

"Welcome to my world" the girl laughed, "honestly, when I came, did you expect someone completely different?"

"Kinda, yeah"

"And what do you think now?"

"That I shouldn't have underestimated you when you first got here" Scott admitted, "sorry. It's just that all the hunters we've really faced have been psychopaths and older people. No room left in them for change."

"Those Argents seem alright."

"They are," Scott said, smiling a little to himself, "their family were kind of wacky – tried to kill me a few times."

". . . Naturally."

"But Allison and her dad really turned it around."

"You and Allison got history?" Stephanie asked, holding his gaze in the mirror. Scott looked abashed, blushing as he looked away, out of the window. He couldn't even think about Allison like that anymore. It still hurt.

"A long time ago," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, "how'd you know?"

"Your face when you said her name"

Scott tilted his head in agreement, silently admitting there was probably some truth in what she was saying. Between him and Allison, things would never be that simple. But he was the alpha, and something told him to act tough in front of the hunter, so he simply shrugged and looked away, jutting out his jaw. Little did he know that affection warmed the hunter to him more than any fighting display ever could.

They weren't far now; just a few streets from the animal clinic. Scott knew that first impressions counted more than people let on, so he wanted to cement a friendship with the hunter. As far as he could tell, Deaton had been right about letting someone in – it looked like Stephanie could help. But they didn't know a thing about her.

"Why did you help us?" he asked.

"Don called, said there was a Hellhound job – I couldn't say no, it's my area."

He shook his head, "that's not what I meant."

"What _did_ you mean?" the girl asked, noticing Scott's change of tone. Looking suddenly uncomfortable, the alpha looked away, going red and muttering.

"Doesn't matter"

"Obviously does" Stephanie demanded, and when no more comment was made, she pulled up to the side of the road and turned in her seat to face him. Cornered, Scott panicked and went for the door, but without even looking, the dark haired girl knocked it shut with her elbow. Fixing him with a slightly amused gaze, Stephanie crossed her arms expectantly, mocking Scott's actions from five minutes ago. "So tell me."

"It's just . . . uh, why work with Werewolves? Aren't you like, programmed to hunt us?" Scott really was red now; embarrassed at the hole he'd dug himself.

"It's the choice of the hunter; some with work with supernaturals like yourself, others won't," she said, but her eyes narrowed as she went on, the amusement still there, "why don't you ask what you really want to."

Scott paused, gulping. "Have you ever killed a werewolf before?"

"Yes, I have. Comes with the job"

"How many?"

Steph paused for a moment, studying his earnest face before answering, "Just two. Both were extreme cases, and I didn't act until it was the only option left."

"Bu-"

"I don't like killing, McCall." Stephanie said loudly and slowly, and he could see on her face the horror but honesty, "really, I don't. Most hunters take cases and kill whatever's responsible, but I work on my own system: prevention rather than punishment."

"You try and stop things before they happen" Scott said.

Steph twitched a smile, "Bullseye."

"It's a good policy."

"Thank you," she replied, "basically, I try to get to people like yourself before they hurt anyone. I know why you asked – to protect your pack. I don't blame you for that."

"So how do you do that?"

"I find names, get info – strange occurrences, animal attacks, anything outside the norm – and go to the town. I find the cause, and I _talk to them_. That's it. I have contacts - I send the werewolves to them until they know how to control their . . . urges" As she said that, Scott burst out laughing, and after a second she did too. "Shut up, this is serious," he kept laughing, "oh my god shut up!"

"Sorry" Scott held up his hands, "I'll listen like an adult now."

"Right," she said sarcastically, "well they either stay with them, safe, or they go home once they've learnt how to deal with it. Usually, I feel bad for them. It's a hard wake up call to a scary world."

"Yeah, I've been there."

Steph nodded sympathetically, and her wavy hair bounced as she moved her head, biting her lip. "So, you happy now?"

Thinking a moment, Scott started nodding, but spoke without thinking, blurting out "What about the two?"

The girl flinched back at the comment, eyes widening in hurt. It was only then he noticed what a strange colour they were: green, tinted gold. Such a strange kaleidoscope of greens, they were striking. Unaturally so.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" Scott reached out to her, but she jumped away on instinct. Moving to sit differently, knees curled up to her chest, she spoke again.

"One was about a year into my time as a hunter. Guy got turned and didn't even know it, but by the time I got there . . . it was too late. He was a single dad – he'd killed his kid by accident. He begged me to do it" Steph broke off, voice cracking, not even looking at the alpha anymore. In a self-comfort gesture, her one had was rubbing the knees clutched to her chest. Scott thought she looked even younger now than the shock when they'd first saw her, the gesture almost childlike. Straightening, she looked up again, "The other was the other breed of werewolf."

"There's another breed of werewolf?"

She laughed, "wow, you _are_ new to this. There is your type, which is the wolf which keeps its mind; you can control your transformations, and keep your thoughts when you do change. The other type doesn't; it isn't a man anymore, it's an animal. There's no thought left"

"Mr. Argent never mentioned those" Scott frowned.

"They're rare," Steph explained, colour and confidence coming back on this safer ground, "we think that the first pack of werewolves was split up at one point: half the pack stayed together, making your type of werewolf; half the pack got lost and bred with feral wolves, making the other kind."

"Let's hope we don't run into any of those."

"Yeah," Steph agreed, but she was still lacking the spark she'd had an hour ago.

Scott felt guilty. "Listen, I'm sorry for asking about the other wolves."

"You were just trying to protect your pack."

"But it can't be easy, a life like that."

"Yours isn't exactly a piece of cake."

"That's true," Scott tilted his head, "but I also know how hard bad memories can hit you." He smiled comfortingly, sad face trying it's best to be the sunshine it used to be. It was easy to forget he was still a kid sometimes, the amount of responsibility he took onto himself. He had met this girl about an hour ago, and already wanted to help her, though she hadn't asked for it.

She looked sad for a minute, but then asked. "What about you? Ever kill anyone?"

"Not yet, ma'am."

"Let's keep it that way"

He smiled wider now, teeth shining, and nodded. She grinned back.

It was stupid, but his first thought was that if she really believed in her 'prevention' policy, maybe if he didn't kill anyone, she could stay. They pulled back onto the road, quite a way behind the others now, who were no doubt wondering what had happened to them.

But luckily, Steph drove like a mad woman, even worse than Stiles. The car dipped and shook with every crack in the road, but their wheels barely touched the surface, going so fast half the time they were a second away from flying.

Scott climbed from the back to the front, a risky move at that speed, stopping in the passenger seat. He held on to the door handle, not scared by the speed. Actually, it was kind of fun. Slamming the stick in the middle up a gear, Steph really opened it up, making Scott laugh as she chased up the Argent's tail, dipping out and around the other car in a high-speed overtake. Scott was sure the Sheriff would have a word with them about dangerous driving later, but as it was, they laughed as loud as they could, and shaking off the heavy conversation they'd just had.

"This is mental!" Scott shouted.

"That's nothing, watch this" Steph said above the roar of the engine as, putting on another surprising spurt of speed for such an old model, the car dipped off the road and almost into a hedge, veering wildly over the bumps as they passed Stiles jeep. As they passed, Scott turned to look over into his friend's truck; Stiles was staring back, awestruck as Scott acting so recklessly. His mouth was hanging open a little and his eyebrows were upturned in surprise. Steph looked too, and twirled her fingers in a flirty wave, winking once before putting her foot down and leaving the jeep in their dust.

Just before he was out of sight, Scott saw his best friend react to the wave. Stiles jerked up in his seat, face twisting into shock, and he let go of the wheel, almost crashing. It was priceless.

In the old car, the hunter and the alpha burst into more laughter, Steph barely keeping them on the road, leaning back in her seat with only one hand on the wheel. Beside her, Scott laughed at his friend, because it felt good after a stressful night to feel free on the road and laugh. Usually he only got a thrill like this when running at his full shifted speed through the woods, which he did on particularly bad days. He had to say, this was better. Everything was with good company.

"That was genius" he spluttered out, rocking back and forward in the passenger seat with each hacked laugh, forcing out of his chest long lost joy.

"I shouldn't be laughing," Steph said, half-guiltily, "but that face was special."

"You should see it when he's frustrated" Scott told her, still laughing every few seconds. They left the others right behind now, sticking to their ridiculous pace as they swung around the dark back roads, heading towards the clinic. "He does this thing with his eyes, where he squints them, it's hilarious" he laughed again, and maybe from the image or just because a good laugh was hard to stop, the girl joined in, "it's bad though, there's some situations when we shouldn't be laughing, and he does it – I have to try so hard to keep a straight face."

"But that's exactly when you _should_ be laughing!"

"Why?"

"Because if you laugh when you shouldn't be, it'll be easier to laugh when you need to" she replied.

Scott had no answer to that, letting the hum of the engine and the speed wash over him, thinking that wasn't too bad a life moral he intended to try in the future.

* * *

"What the hell are they doing?" Lydia asked from the backseat, leaning forward to look over through the middle of the jeep into the wing mirror. The new hunter's car had been noticeably absent for a few minutes. In fact, they'd been considering turning back to check everything was okay, when a pair of headlights approached them at an alarming pace, gaining on them too quickly to be safe.

"That's . . ."

"Yeah, that's their car" The Sheriff confirmed, "What's Scott playing at?"

"No idea" Stiles said, eyes fixed on the headlights.

First, they caught them up in seconds, zooming down the road before cutting across the Argent's, a speedy overtake which almost caused a crash. And they were heading right for the jeep.

"I am going to freakin' skin Scott's werewolf ass if he so much as scratches my jeep" Stiles threatened under his breath. The car was on their tail for a second or two, and in his mirror he could see Scott – laughing. That was odd, for one. Mr. Safety and Morals speeding dangerously? That didn't sound like the Scott he knew.

Then, the blue car zipped onto the grassy verge beside the road, bumping about wildly as it passed. He was definitely making a face by now, he knew, which Scott looked over and laughed at. That was okay, Stiles could deal with that. But then the hunter looked over, waving with a flourish of her hand and winking; he was done for.

The easy way to put it: Stiles almost crashed the jeep. Shocked at the action, because let's face it – when had a girl acknowledged him ever? He jumped back; face twisting into shock, mouth slack and what he supposed must have been a funny expression lighting up his face, because in the other car, the pair started laughing.

Yeah. Really funny.

Scowling now, he got control of his jeep from the swerve, gloomy and brooding. He was going to punch Scott in his face the next time he saw him. He swore it.

"Stiles! Keep your eyes on the damn road!" his dad reprimanded, taking a hold on the steering wheel in Stiles' initial shock, pulling them sharply back on course. His dad looked briefly angry, but soon let go of the wheel when his son's attention snapped back.

"Are you kidding me? Pretty girl waves and you nearly kill us all?" Lydia complained, shaking her head in the backseat.

"Pr-pretty? I don't know what you're talking about" Stiles stuttered.

"Yeah, you do. The hunter with killer aim, who has more game than I gave her credit for," Lydia snapped, considering something thoughtfully, "She has potential. That was a good move."

"Well, let's see if she changes her mind and tries to kill us before you get matchmaking" he grumbled back.

"Aw Stiles, are you afraid of a strong woman?"

"Of course not, I always liked you didn't I? Sitting there like literal sunshine" Stiles grumbled without thinking, then froze with realization and hung his head. In the backseat, the blonde's face softened, looking down at her sunny yellow dress then back up at the driver.

Sometimes he was such an idiot, she forgot how genuinely sweet Stiles could be, and that she actually liked him. Not in the same way, but in a way she knew she should be kinder to him. He didn't even think about saying things like that, which made her feel so . . . human. Powerful, in its own way. He wasn't even just talking about her looks, which most guys did; he was saying she was strong. Sometimes, she thought that if she was even half the person Stiles thought she was, she would consider her life a success.

"You didn't think that through, did you?" she teased, but gently, touched by the words. But of course she couldn't tell him that.

"No," he shook his head, blush creeping into his cheeks, "can we agree to forget it?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Um, the end of my suffocating and complete embarrassment?"

"Not good enough," Lydia said, edge of her lip rushing up, "your life would be no fun if I went that easy on you."

Stiles let out a breath of laugh. "We wouldn't want that now, would we?"

In the backseat, unnoticed by him, Lydia hid a small smile at the wonder that was Stiles Stilinski.

* * *

The night ended better than it should had, considering their terrifying excursion through the forest and the fact they'd just discovered a frenzied Hellhound was rampaging through the reserve. Scott knew he'd be forced, by time or outside circumstance, to face that information eventually.

But for now, there was a small stretch of road left between him and the rest of the world.

Rolling down the window, he stuck his head out of the space created, taking off his seatbelt to lean further out into the bracing wind. They were going fast: really, really fast. The wind rushed at his face at a hundred miles an hour, instantly freezing his skin, his neck erupting into goose bumps; it pushed his dark hair from his face, whipping it around his ears. That was when the rain started.

It was slow to start, a few drops landing on his forehead and nose, cool spots to the frozen winds before the heaven's opened. What was spitting rain became torrential, lashing down at them with the full force of a storm – as it started soaking him, Scott let out a whoop of delight.

"Yeah!" he shouted, still leaning out of the window. He was half-frozen by now, and if his mother was there she'd be complaining about him risking a cold, but werewolves didn't get sick, and this felt good. Inside the car, he heard a laugh similar to his own, glancing back in to find Steph had followed his lead and wound her window down, the rain blowing slightly into the car as the wind roared over every sound. It filled everything.

The world was that storm, and that car, and that feeling. Everything else was far.

Scott threw back his head and shouted at the top of his lungs, "We're the kings of the world!"

"And Queens" Steph corrected, and he grinned back, yelling louder out into space.

"AND QUEENS!"

The laughs from the both of them continued, as, wet and hoarse, they laughed, whooped and cheered their way to Deaton's.

* * *

He heard them coming before he saw them. Scott's voice he recognised, the other he did not. They were shouting; cheering at something; he even heard a laugh in there.

For one, that was strange. Scott didn't laugh so much anymore, and with the situation at hand, it seemed immature to be doing something so dumb. But then again, it _was_ Scott.

Another noise came, him shouting something about being king, and the person waiting for them on Deaton's doorstep nearly laughed himself. Before he realized how stupid it was of the kid, who was supposed to be a responsible alpha now, to be giving away his location so easily by messing around. The man groaned inwardly, biting his lip to stop an angry remark, and waited under the streetlamp, pouring rain like falling stars around him.

* * *

Steph and Scott were still laughing when they got to the vet's clinic, slamming the breaks and skidding into the drive, little to no control carrying them almost into the gates. Scott's face was great, wide laughing mixed with fear as they almost crashed, dramatically holding his hands over his eyes as they came to a stop.

"Are we alive?" he asked, eyes still shut.

"I think so"

"Did we crash into the clinic?"

Laughter now filled the car, "nope."

"Are you sure?" Scott asked, finally peeking from his fingertips. They had stopped in the yard, not exactly parked or even out of the way, but he didn't care. That had been the best drive of his life, and even better – they'd survived it.

"Thank god" he breathed, "We're alive!"

"Are you insulting my driving?" Steph asked offendedly.

"Yes!"

"Suit yourself. Next time you need a lift, you can car share with your ex or the Sheriff"

"Awkwardness or boredom? No way, you wouldn't do that to me! I'll never insult your driving again" Scott vowed, still laughing from the adrenaline.

"That's better"

"That was . . ."

"Madness?" Steph guessed, and he nodded with enthusiasm, "it's been said."

"By who?"

She made a face, as if calculating or adding up, "pretty much everyone."

It was a lame joke, but Scott still laughed. It had been a strange night, but that last ten minutes, the laughing and that drive, had been just alright in a world full of crap. His sides ached from laughing so hard for so long, and he was still damp from the rain, but it was all in the best kind of way. If there was more nights like this, and less like the panic with Stiles yesterday, Scott really thought he could do it. Get up every day, fight for this little town which was his whole world, and smile. Hell, he could kill that ugly mother in the forest with his bare hands on a buzz like this.

But he just had no idea how to put that into words.

"Thank you" he said suddenly, laughter stopping slowly.

"For what?"

". . . I have absolutely no idea" he admitted, and they were laughing again, the engine starting to make the cold windows cloud up. Lying as far back into their seats as the laughter stole their bones, tears in their eyes. It was stopped a few minutes later.

In the headlights of the car, a figure rose from the steps of the animal clinic, lit up by the too bright light. He did not look pleased, ever wild eyes dark with anger, standing like some comic book villain in the rain. Scott's laughter vanished, replaced by a dose of grim reality, with a brief relief at seeing the other man again. It had been a while.

Derek Hale had returned to Beacon Hills.

* * *

**A/N: **_the cliffhangers are back! Sorry, but I got to keep people interested, right? A couple of people have said that they like Steph in the reviews, which is such a bloody relief I can tell you, so she's staying like I planned. The only comment I got was that her as a love interest is not wanted, so let me just say: you can breathe easy for now. I hate the social view brought about by the media that any female character must be a love interest like girls aren't good for anything else. (ofc not the reviewers fault, just the general media as a whole). At the moment, she is only going to be a friend. A close friend, almost family-like with one of the wolves in particular, and just very close with others. But that may change, depending on what people want. Maybe she can hook up with peter and have 23 sarcastic little wolf children and adopt Stiles. just kidding. Jus' lemme know what you guys want. ONE WEEK TILL CHRISTMAS! - Meg._


	6. Paths to Tread

**a/n: **_Look who updated on time! and it's edited too! *pats self on back* I hope you like the lotr reference in this title (and if anyone wants to gush about how great the desolation of smaug is, my inbox is your friend. enjoy . . ._

* * *

'Paths to tread'

Scott hopped out of the car pretty sharpish, greeting the old alpha with a sheepish smile. "Derek. Good to see you again."

"Good to see you haven't changed," Derek replied dryly, "-still an idiot."

"I missed you too"

The former alpha, standing quite threateningly without a trace of a smile on his face, turned to Steph, who had just got out of the car. Before they'd known him, Scott thought, Derek had scared them – it was only recently they'd started to get closer, and then he had left. Scott could only think how hostile he could seem to the new to town hunter. "Who's this?" Derek demanded.

"This is Steph, she's a – a hunter who came to help us figure this out," Scott said, noticing Derek's jaw visibly jump at the words, "Steph – this is Derek Hale. He's nice on the inside."

Steph nodded uneasily at him. "H-"

"You're working with hunters?" Derek shouted, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm right here" Steph said sarcastically.

Scott answered, "Just this one – Deaton knows her, and she's helping!"

"Now, yeah. What about when she decides she doesn't want to work with werewolves anymore?"

"I might as well be invisible, really," Steph continued. Shaking her head as they argued and walking to sit on the hood of her car.

"She won't – I trust her"

"Of course you do," Derek snapped sarcastically, "'cause that's what you always do. And it's going to get you killed, you know."

"Trusting people isn't a weakness."

"It is when it's hunters who you're trusting!"

"I might start taking offence at this," Steph put in.

"When has working with hunters every worked?" Derek questioned angrily. Without even noticing it, when the girl had moved away he'd closed the space between them, shouting now into Scott's face. Realizing this, and how rude he must seem, he blinked a few times, face sobering, and took a few steps back. "I'm sorry, Scott. I know you're trying your best but-"

"You'd do better?" Scott challenged defiantly, and Derek remembered why he'd caused all that trouble, right back at the start when they first met.

"I'd be more careful."

At the quieter words, which had greater affect, Scott too backed down a little, looking to the floor. Derek had a way of voicing every doubt he he'd had about himself.

"I'm trying to_ save_ people, whatever it takes," he said, "Steph here came when we asked – to help."

At this, he finally twisted to acknowledge the hunter, still slumped on the front of her car. At the mention of her name, she mockingly perked up, looking around and getting to her feet. "What? Are you two done fighting like an old married couple now?"

"We – don't fight like a - " Scott started, but flustered, he trailed off as the girl's eyebrows hit the roof, crossing her arms with a smirk, "oh, shut up."

Stephanie laughed, walking forwards, and this time Derek took the offered hand of welcome, shaking it.

"You're gonna fit in just fine here" the older werewolf said wryly, watching the exchange.

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"Whichever will help you sleep at night."

To his surprise, the young hunter laughed at that comment. Perhaps he was wrong about her. Stiles would have acted overly offended at the comment, Scott and Allison would have been genuinely offended and grouchy, Lydia would have pouted a frown, and Isaac would have rolled his eyes. They were his pack before; he knew them too well. None of them would have laughed. But, maybe as she was new and therefore more appreciative of his humour, or just because she didn't care what he thought, she did. She cracked a wide grin, and laughed.

"Well, I can see why they didn't send you out on the welcoming committee, grumpy."

Derek was luckily spared from comment as the familiar but rickety old jeep and the Argent's car pulled into the clinic's parking lot, having to awkwardly manoeuvre around the already parked car. The faces of the passengers ranged from grim to pissed as they exited their vehicles.

"I bet you think you're frickin' hilarious" Stiles said, approaching fast and punching Scott on his arm, face furious, "But you're the biggest jerk ever, I swear."

"Ouch," Scott said dryly, "you really got me."

"You won't be laughing when you wake up in the middle of the night with a wolfsbane facial."

Scott made a sceptical face, but next to him, Steph snorted with laughter, covering her mouth instantly. Instead of being proud, Stiles turned on her, too.

"You're no better, I nearly crashed! For a so called 'professional' that was dumb," he snapped, but then lessened a little, "eh, screw you both."

"But baby, I thought what we had was special" Steph counted in a false voice, holding her hands over her heart. Scott, and even Allison and Isaac, who were walking over, hid giggles at that. Waves of approval were coming from them all like a tsunami. It was easy to see how quickly an alliance had been made.

"Hey, I'm the funny one round here!"

"That's debatable," Scott muttered, earning him a high five from the hunter. Stiles made another mad face, all exaggeration and movement.

"Fine, I see, you've found a new best friend. You dirty traitor" He turned his back on them, noticing Derek lurking on the steps, "so, you're back then."

"You never quite grasped the concept of 'hello' did you, Stiles?" Derek said, in response to the odd welcome, half a smile playing on his lips. Damn it, he _had_ missed them.

"Great, everyone's a god damn comedian tonight!"

* * *

After a slight telling-off from the Sheriff about 'dangerous and frankly worrying driving', the Pack got back to business. The lecture went over the top of the new hunters head; she'd always drove that way, and she sure didn't plan on stopping now. Nothing made her feel more alive.

"So, Hellhounds" Chris Argent said, facing the group with a certain degree of trepidation, "Obviously nothing good. What do we do?"

The last statement was directed at Stephanie, who had been deep in thought and answered off-headedly, "let me deal with it."

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry," she murmured, head snapping up as realisation dawned on her face, "I, um, I'll be making some general inquiries tomorrow and should have a definite plan of action by two days from now at the most. Leave it to me."

"That's not really what we had in mind – we want to help, and be sure it's dealt with."

Steph spoke frankly, not an edge of meanness to her voice, just honesty. "Listen guys, you called me in to do the job and I'll do it; but it'll be a sorted lot quicker if I work alone."

"I'm not comfortable with that" said Mr. Argent and the Sheriff at the same time, glancing at each other afterwards. It was good to know that they were having similar thoughts.

"It's not that we don't trust you" the Sheriff said, "-we do. It's just-"

"- we don't like the idea of you working alone" Mr. Argent finished, a sense of finality coming into his tone. They stared gravely down at the teenager, whose brow creased at the words, as she crossed her arms defensively, like it came naturally to her.

"Because you think I'm some dumb kid?"

"Because we don't want your blood on our hands," the Sheriff said earnestly, "look – you _are_ young, no- listen, and you are." He said when she looked ready to argue, and she shut her mouth. "And we don't know you, or what you're used to, but in my job – we don't let kids fight monsters alone."

"He's right," Scott cut in, "if we can learn from you while you're here too, that can help us. Why are you so reluctant to let people help you? I know how most people think, but having help doesn't make you weak."

At the alpha's words, Derek smiled a little, seeing how good a leader the teenager was, despite his young years and inexperience. If he could just learn to be a bit harsher with people to gain control, and that not everyone has good intentions, he would be a good alpha. Not perfect, because that wasn't the point with a pack – but good. Scott always had that quality.

It was his other tendency to look for the best in people which was worrying. Derek could see the girl in front of him clearly: she _was_ funny, but it seemed somewhat forced; she was hiding something; she was as defensive as he was, stubborn in the set of her jaw at what people were saying. She also wasn't bad at heart, he didn't think. Not all the way down, but there was a hint of something darker in her eyes. Despite this, just because they'd laughed together and he thought she was genuine, Scott seemed to have afforded her his whole trust already, Derek could see that. It would not end well to trust so easily.

At his words, the girls face had changed to thought, as if she was fighting herself to make a choice. She reminded him of Peter after the fire; like she had seen something terrible. Finally, she looked back up, smile more obviously false now. "I don't. Really, it's just that I have a specific way of working which has the best results when there are no distractions."

"That's a lie," Scott said, looking hurt, "Your heartbeat just sped up."

"No, you must have heard wrong, I'm not surprised, after tonight. I'll meet you back here tomorrow, 7pm." She tried to walk away, but Scott went after her, catching her by the arm to spin her around, which she quickly wrenched out of his grasp.

"_Why are you lying?_" he demanded.

"What if I only wanted to save you the trouble of knowing things, that trust me, you don't want to know?"

"We're werewolves, I think we can handle it" Scott answered confidently, but looked concerned. The girl had looked almost desperate when she'd suggested it, like she really was trying to save them. At this though, she laughed bitterly, none of the humour he'd seen in the car left.

"No, no you really don't understand."

"Then help us to. We're going to have to deal with all this stuff sooner or later."

"Then make it later!" Steph said passionately, using her hands as she talked, "give yourself another week, another month, another year. The less you know, the better you'll sleep. I wish I didn't know some of the things I do, I don't want to have to bring anyone else further into this than they have to be."

"No. One of us goes with you: whatever it is you think you're protecting us from, we need to know. I'm the alpha; I should come with you tomorrow while you're working."

"No" said the Sheriff, "you're all going to school – Agent McCall is already annoyed at me, I'm not giving him a reason to give you a hard time too."

"I'll go," Derek said from the back, distracting them all. Every head turning to face him, he shrugged and spoke again, "it's not like there's much left that could shock me."

"I'll take that bet" Steph said grimly.

Lydia was still unsure if she wanted to know all this or not, as being a 'Banshee' was quite enough weird for her. But she accused with a smirk, "You're just being dramatic now."

"I bloody wish," the hunter still looked ready to argue, but the Pack all seemed to be in agreement, and stared at her until she relented, "Okay! Okay, he can come!"

"I'll see you back here tomorrow then" Derek said.

"6am" Steph told him, "If you're late, I'm leaving. I want to get this done before sun up."

* * *

"She's not here – yeah, I got here on time! – I'm not stupid, Scott. She said 6am and it's only 5:55" Derek grumbled into the phone, but got little response from the sleepy alpha. It was morning, and he was standing outside the clinic – minus one annoying hunter.

Her drama last night and protectiveness was bad enough, without double crossing them on some naive idea that she could help them by keeping them in the dark, Derek would not stand. He'd seen a lot, and didn't appreciate some kid acting like he was new to all of this.

"Have you actually looked?" Scott asked from the other end, not too happy at the early wake from the grumpiest werewolf in town.

"Of course I have, Scott, I'm not stupi-" just as he spoke, Derek saw the blue of the girl's car peeking from behind a truck in the parking lot, and getting an idea, walked towards it, phone tucked in the crook of his neck. "Wait, give me a sec"

When he got to the car, Derek sighed in sympathy, shaking his head. "It's okay, she just turned up" he said into the receiver, hanging up. Inside her car, leaning in the backseat against the window and fast asleep, was the hunter from last night. He might not have liked her a lot, but he had to take pity on anyone without a home – he understood the feeling too well. Sighing, he stooped next to the window by her feet and tapped the glass.

The result was instantaneous: flinching up, the girl snapped awake with wide eyes and panicked breathing, hands on some concealed gun and lifting it to his face in about a second. When she saw who it was, the girl visibly relaxed, lowering the gun and wiping a hand over her face.

If anything, this just made Derek even more sympathetic; anyone who woke up so scared must have some bad memories.

"Damn it, you scared me! Fantastic bedside manner, grumpy" she complained, sitting up and getting out the other side. Rolling his eyes but not commenting, he went around, meeting her as she got to her trunk, blinking tired eyes as they adjusted to the daylight. Opening her trunk, Stephanie groggily started preparing for the day; Derek peered around at the mess inside. Guns lined up in one section, knives in another, grenades, daggers, machetes – every sort of weapon imaginable were in nets at the far back of the trunk. On the left, various smoke grenades and tear gas, even spray paint hung in other nets attached to the sides. On the right, books and papers were stacked in old cardboard boxes. In the middle of the trunk were several cases, brimming with clothes and general crap.

"And you're a _friendly_ hunter?" he said, eyes on the weapons.

"I said I'd work with a peaceful pack of werewolves – other things don't have the same luxury."

Stephanie was busying herself with things in the trunk, brushing her hair and tying it up into a ponytail before using an assortment of sprays which smelt nice. Picking up a flask, she gulped down what smelt like cold coffee, grabbing a packet of pastries from somewhere.

"Want one?" she asked, offering the bag as she bit into a plaited pastry. The breakfast was simple, and a few days old. Derek shook his head and she shrugged, muttering what sounded like 'suit yourself' and dumping a bag in his hands instead. "Hold this" she instructed.

"Why should I?" he asked, not liking getting ordered about.

"You said you wanted to help" she pointed out, so he stood and held the stupid bag up as she dumped several things into it, still eating the stale pastry. It was no life. She put in red spray paint, two bottles of industrial sized water, a high tech tablet, a thick book, and several knives and guns. Derek watched all these things go in puzzlement.

"How are these going to help us catch a Hellhound?"

"They're not" Steph answered shortly, tired and just about done with the negative attitude radiating off him.

"I think you're kind of missing the point somewhere."

"Then you'd be wrong, come on." Slamming the trunk shut, she went back around to the front of the car and hopped in the driver's seat, waiting patiently for him to join her. After a moment he did, taking the bag and dumping in unceremoniously on the floor. He was going to ask where they were going, but decided to stay quiet.

* * *

It was surprising, however, when they arrived at the crossroads.

"What are we doing here?" he asked, as they got out a little way away and walked up, the sun not yet risen. The road was deserted.

"We're going to summon a demon and ask what it knows about the Hellhound"

Derek paused for a moment. "Oh."

He followed her again, as she dropped the duffel bag they'd prepared on the floor just outside the crossroads. From it, she drew the red paint. Starting near him, she sprayed a giant circle around the crossroads, then started zig-zagging across the space, adding symbols here and there, until at last she stepped back until she was beside him once more, fingertips red but proud of her work.

"Remind me again, how does vandalism help us summon a demon?"

"It's a devil's trap, moron" she said, really growing irritated at his constant questioning, "When the demon comes, it won't be able to leave now."

"I'm sorry, I should have guessed that" Derek replied sarcastically, and she sighed.

"Just stay back here and keep a hold on one of those bottles – if anything comes at you, throw the water on it and get yourself out." With that piece of advice, she strut off in a way Lydia would have been proud of, stopping in the middle of the crossroads and digging again. When the box was uncovered, she pulled it loose, opening it and adding her own photo to the mix.

By the time she had stood back up, there was someone else in the circle. Derek jumped then made to move forward as in the blink of an eye, a man appeared in the trap. He was only stopped by the girl frantically moving her hands to keep him back. When he did, she faced the demon and spoke more confidently than she had all day.

"What's your name?"

"I am called Eli – but you know that. It's been a long time – Stephanie, is it? New name, same person. But I'm avoiding the point – I was told it was stupid to come here, with you holding all the cards, but do you want to know why I came?"

"Do tell."

"I think you want to know about the crack in this town."

"The crack?" Stephanie asked, pacing around the edge of the trap and glaring at the man, who remained quite stationary inside the trap. Derek had never seen a demon before – yesterday he would have dismissed them as non-existent. But even though it just looked like an ordinary man – middle aged and balding – the thing seemed to eliminate all happiness there. A void of all light. It was scary.

"Oh, they didn't tell you?" the demon said, with a glance towards Derek, who involuntarily flinched. "The Pack here did a very bad thing, oh no, they were very naughty. Opened a crack in the world – a nemeton tree lies in the woods here, and they woke it up. How do you think my doggie got through?"

"So it _is_ one of yours."

"But of course – you knew that, child. It hasn't been that long since you saw it."

The girl's jaw clenched; she spoke through gritted teeth. "Are you going to call it back?"

"Why would I ruin its fun? He's been such a good puppy – made a plaything of you, for one – I think you'll have to get rid of it by yourself" the man said threateningly, and Derek could see the shaking start in the hands of the girl in the circle. But she lifted her chin in defiance, putting on a show of bravado he was impressed by. The only thing which gave her away was the beating of her heart, a fluttering, panicked sound. "Its gone rogue, sweetheart!"

"I'll kill it then."

"Doesn't matter, there's plenty more," the demon shrugged nonchalantly, "and they'll be seeing you very soon."

"Shut up!" the girl cried, snapping; throwing a bit of the water at the man – it burned as it touched his skin, and he cried out in pain, but grimaced a smile. "That's enough from you."

"Missed it, have you?" he taunted, "don't worry – it's still waiting-"

"I said, quiet!"

As she threw more water, the man screamed again, too loud in the emptiness of the field. Stephanie's face remained cold, not moved at all by the screaming, there was nothing there. No compassion, at least – hatred, however, Derek could read in every involuntary flinch and shake of her body.

"You can't hurt me, darlin'. Even if you send me back – it's just home."

"If I hear you are abusing this 'crack'; if anything more gets through; if I so much as see a demon fifty miles from this town, I swear I will make you pay for it – do you understand?" Steph said, with each example tipping the water onto his body until he was on his knees, the hunter crouched over him. "Do you?"

"Yes! Yes, damn it, yes." The demon said in pain, angrily but truthfully, "You'll hear nothing from me – but can you say the same for your new friends? Who knows what else they're attracting with the crack – everyone can see it; every demon and half-witted monster in the world! You'll get yours, Samsa."

He cursed, and she stood triumphantly, control settling back into her stance.

"Maybe," she said, "but not today. Goodbye, Eli."

"It was good to see your face again."

Infuriated at the comment, she kicked him in the ribs, and the demon shouted again. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus . . ."

As Derek watched, she finished the odd chant and black smoke erupted from the man's mouth, expelled into the air and then dragged down through the earth, burning where it touched before it was gone. They both stood for a few seconds after it was gone. Then, as the girl knelt beside the fallen body of the man, Derek almost collapsed in complete shock of the experience, hands going to his head. Stephanie appeared at his elbow a moment later, holding up the man.

"We have to get him to a hospital."

* * *

It was safe to say that the last thing Melissa McCall expected to see on her early shift was her son's old mentor and who she assumed was the new hunter carrying in a half-dead man.

"Derek?" she asked, after a series of doctor's had taken the man away, pulling the pair to the side. Both looked unsteady.

"Mrs. McCall," he said, "we never properly met. This, uh, this is -"

"Stephanie Hannox" the hunter supplied warmly, smiling at Mrs. McCall. Derek wondered how it was possible that she was the same person from the crossroads. She had evidently noticed his new discomfort, "sorry to trouble you, but have you got a place we could talk for a moment?"

Melissa looked at them both and then nodded, leading them through the corridors until they came to a small, unused storeroom away from the rest of the hospital. She turned, noticing the tension. "I'll go see how that man is doing – 5 minutes?"

"Thank you, Mrs. McCall" Steph smiled. When the nurse was gone, she turned to Derek, who refused to meet her eye and leant against the shelves. "Say it."

"You tortured that man" Derek said.

"I did what I had to do" she answered, "and the warning will keep your town safe for a little while – at least until we can fix this nemeton issue anyway, _which you all usefully forgot to mention_."

"How was that 'what you had to do'?"

"He won't send anything through now – it could keep this place safer!"

Derek scoffed, crossing his arms, "He's apparently a demon. You can't be sure he'll keep his word."

"He will," she replied darkly, "it was in his eyes – he will."

Derek just opened his mouth to talk back, but was interrupted. Breaking the tension, the door snapped open. "You should go" Melissa McCall appeared at the door again, looking anxious; "the police are here, looking for you."

"Thanks for the heads up" Derek said, taking a firm hold of the hunters arm and steering her out.

"It would be great if you could keep our names from the reports" Steph added.

Mrs. McCall nodded, "I'll see what I can do. Go, quickly."

* * *

Back at the reserve, and Derek was starting to get annoyed. It had been a hell (nothing funny intended) of a morning. He hadn't expected to be summoning demons; he certainly hadn't expected the effect it had on him. Honestly, he was scared. That thing had been . . . wrong. He could feel it, as another supernatural creature, the black void of the man they'd met. And the girl . . .

She had watched it scream, and it had known her. But she too was scared. He could hear it; her heartbeat hadn't returned to a normal pace yet. Steph was shaking: fingers trembling so badly she could barely hold the shotgun she was covering them with as they walked through the trees. He could have hated her for what he had seen; feared or mistrusted her – but he pitied her. Something had happened, it must have – they had known her, and she was terrified of them. Derek wasn't sure he even wanted to ask.

But he had to. "Why did the demon say those things?"

Steph pretended to scan the tree line, casually saying, "I didn't become an expert from reading."

"You'd met before?"

"Doesn't matter anymore – he'll stay away. We just need to eliminate the Hellhound before sorting out this 'nemeton'."

"It matters because you're terrified," he stopped, speaking earnestly. He would have reached out to touch her, if he didn't think she'd flinch away. "Something horrible happened, didn't it?"

Steph said nothing, staring at the ground and leaves. She stubbornly stayed quiet; he almost laughed.

"My sister Laura used to do that," he said quietly, walking again, "she'd stay silent for days if she didn't want to talk, strutting about the place like a right little queen. My mother used to get so mad" he laughed lightly, and to his surprise, found the teenager had fallen into step with him. That meant she was listening, at least.

So he continued. "You remind me of both my sisters, actually – Laura and Cora. Yeah, they rhyme. They used to annoy the hell out of me too."

At this, the girl made a noise of disagreement, pushing her shoulder forwards in a tackle-like movement to knock him, and he swayed. Laughing a little, at both memories and at the weak push. But it was working. This was how he used to get Laura to eventually talk too.

"They were stubborn like you, and as sarcastic; they were both warriors, like you."

Steph huffed sceptically, "I'm no warrior."

"Are you kidding? I've seen you fight! And what you did today – you were scared, but did it anyway to help – that's brave" he said, and she stiffened again. He realized his mistake, and amended quickly, "stubborn too, my sisters. We could argue for hours – they'd make a stone angry. And we'd all say these horrible things that we didn't mean, and go off angry – but we'd always come back after a while. I'd bring back a pizza and a crappy rented movie to make it all okay. We never meant any of it – they knew I loved them. We were all we had after my family died."

Although he expected her too, the girl did not ask how or how long ago his family died, which most did, which only sparked his curiosity more. He continued of his own choice, "It was years ago. Our house was burnt down by hunters – the Argents. Well, one of them"

Steph grimaced; face wincing, "that's why you don't trust hunters. I'm sorry for giving you a hard time about that."

"No," he shook his head, "no, you were right. You're not them – I like you better because you remind me of my sisters, not them. Like Scott, too. He told me your system. I didn't believe him before."

"Why do you talk about them in the past tense?" Steph asked, after a few minutes walking in content quiet, "your sisters?"

"Laura died a few years ago"

"I'm sorry," she said, meaning it. He noticed something in her tone which he recognised from Stiles – only people who had lost family said that in the same way. "What about your other sister?"

"We moved away from town a while ago. Cora stayed behind while I came back – I said she had to stay, she's finally in a college, having a normal life" he was gushing, proud beyond belief at how well his sister was doing, with an education, friends – a life she deserved. "She can finally move on from all of this."

"Will you go back, when this is all over?"

"I don't know. She has her life now – I can't hold her back forever."

"But if she's your only family-"

"I've got the Pack," he smiled, but there was something rueful to it, "I needed some time away, but this place has always been my home – which is just up ahead, by the way."

Stephanie looked confused for a minute, but her face cleared up as the Hale house came into view, burnt out and foreboding as ever. But for Derek, it was and would always be home. She was unsure what to make of his change of attitudes, although it wasn't a bad thing. He at least seemed human, and not just a grumpy werewolf on a bad moon trip.

They walked up to the house, Derek taking the steps but Steph stopping before them, looking unsure.

"It's okay," Derek said, and she reluctantly followed him up, "this is my worst nightmare, this place. I wasn't inside for the fire, but all of my memories are here. This is my hell." He studied her closely, "what's yours? What happened?"

She sat down on the steps, "My family are dead, too."

Derek felt his face twinge, knowing sympathy flashing across it. "I'm sorry. You – you don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

"You told me your story" she said, as he sat next to her, but offered no more information on it. She changed the subject. "Do you understand why I tried to keep you all away? As soon as I knew demons were involved, I knew I had to keep them all safe – they're sweet kids."

"You haven't been attacked by them" Derek said, and she laughed shakily, "get shot with an arrow by Allison then tell me she's sweet."

"But you know what I mean – they're innocent."

"Yeah, I know" They were sitting side by side on the steps, as he had done so many times with his sisters when they were younger, knees touching every time one of them laughed. The rain might have stopped, but it was still cold. He watched her carefully, feeling his own resolve melt as they sat; Derek was surprised by himself for revealing so much about his own family, but they were the same. The hunter and the wolf: two sides of the same coin.

She had no family, and he wouldn't ask her how they died: that was her business. She hadn't asked him. Both knew how it felt to live alone on the streets, and he realized the reason he was so suspicious of her was because he saw himself there, in the pained eyes and subtle sadness. Maybe, for once, he could admit that Scott was right – he trusted the hunter, too.

Steph wiped her eyes, which were misty, straightening up in her seat. "I'm going to get rid of that Hellhound for you, and keep your home safe."

Derek nodded back, ready for what was coming next. Demons were real, and they were hunting Hell's lapdog. The Pack had something big on their hands. But now, he had faith in a stranger who might just be able to save them all. "Then let's go. How do you kill a Hellhound?"

"It's not easy. There are three ways: a weapon forged in Hell, killing it in a place where two rivers meet, or – on the roots of the nemeton. If there really is a crack and it really let it in – perhaps if we end it there we can seal the door opened by the Pack. It's the only chance to save this town."

"Sounds like we're going to be busy."

"You bet" Steph nodded frankly. Derek got up and landing at the bottom of the steps, offered her his hand, taping both on her knees decidedly, she took it; he pulled her up, picking up her rifle in the other hand and examining the aim, which only made her laugh and snatch it back. Together, they made their way through the green; out of the forest.

* * *

**A/N: **_so, what do you think? I hope it's a bit clearer now what I meant when I said Steph would have a 'very close' relationship with one of the wolves - but I didn't mean a romantic one, simply that her and Derek will become like family. They are very similar in a lot of ways. Anyways, don't forget to review or message me any comments, they're always appreciated and never unwelcome! Since the next update should be on wednesday, but it's christmas that day, whether or not there will be a chapter until next saturday is up in the air at the moment. I have a few ready to go, but I want to keep ahead, and I've hit a slump with the latest one. Happy holidays! -Meg._


	7. a day in the life of a teenage werewolf

**A/N: **_sorry it's a few days late, but with christmas and everything it's been really busy to update! but there will definitely be regular wednesday/saturday updates from now on. Thats an almost-promise._

* * *

'A day in the life of a teenage werewolf'

It was Wednesday, and the week had already been too long for Scott. First Stiles and the nightmares, then the news that there was a Hellhound in town – really, there was only so much he could deal with at once. He was in class while Derek and Steph were hunting a Hellhound: this should have been a relief, but if anything, all it meant was that he was living in a limbo of worry.

"Do you think they're okay? We should definitely call to check" he asked for the hundredth time, leaning over to talk to Stiles in science, who sighed. He too was distracted, however, tugging absent-mindedly at the strings of his pale grey hoodie as his friend complained every few minutes, more of a silent worrier than Scott was.

"We've been over this – they'll be fine. They said not to call. That hasn't changed since the last time you asked-" Stiles checked his watch, "_seven_ minutes ago."

"But what if something's happened?"

"There's not much we can do if it did, unless you found a magical way to become an expert on Hellhounds last night."

"We could do something."

"Yeah, make notes on mitochondria" Stiles deadpanned, nodding towards the board as he continued to not make notes, instead doodling in the margins of his work book. There was a wolf, batman and what looked like a Hellhound there, so Scott knew that despite his nonchalance, Stiles was worried too. The dog was huge and grisly looking, with red eyes.

"Nice picture" he said in response to that, but was saved from a snarky response by the bell, signalling the end of class. Getting quickly to his feet; Scott left the room and started pacing down the corridor, feeling like there was something off.

He felt odd. As he walked, the corridor seemed to stretch out around him, growing longer like a spring the more steps he took. Stretching outwards, the lockers and people moved further and further away, and Scott couldn't keep up. Reaching out to stop the world from moving, Scott collapsed against the wall; he blinked and rubbed his eyes, and when he looked up again the world was back in order. The corridor was the right length once more.

But he looked strange, and was starting to get some confused looks from other students, so he forced a smile and slipped into the nearest boy's bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror, Scott could see that he looked ill: he was pale and sweaty, a greyish tinge on his features. Trying to calm his breathing, he bent down to splash some water from the tap on his face. It helped a lot, the coolness waking him up a little from the disorientated state – the heat building up around his whole body, a fever in his blood, dampened by the water. It was when he looked up that there was a problem.

As he straightened to stand, Scott got a glimpse of himself again in the mirror – but his reflection had changed. Bloodshot eyes glared back where his should be, violent and bloody, and when he opened his mouth in surprise, the gnashing, wicked jaws of the Hellhound snapped back. Jumping back, he had time only to shout "No!" before he found his way forward, fist slamming into the mirror as the punch shattered the glass. In the cracked reflection, he was just him again, staring back fearfully from beneath the cracks spiralling across the mirror, a hundred or more Scott's looking back at him.

Panting slightly, he stared at himself hard in the reflection, checking he was right – was he dreaming? Was this a nightmare or a hallucination?

The pain in his hand told him it was the latter, some vision or blurry images made up from his own troubled mind. He was seeing himself as the Hellhound, poised to strike. That meant nothing good.

"No," he said again, louder and more confident, "I won't become that."

But there was no one listening apart from his own cracked reflection as his blood washed down the white sink, draining away with all the water.

* * *

Although he knew his orders were to stay in school; out of trouble, Isaac could not help himself from leaving as lunch came. Scanning the cafeteria, he quickly found there was none of the pack around aside from Lydia, who was laughing with Danny about something which obviously amused her a great deal. It didn't really look like a conversation he wanted to be a part of, and thinking Scott and Allison must have decided to skip out too, frustrated at sitting in class and doing nothing, just like him, he left.

If they'd walked out, so could he.

His bike was chained to the railings outside the school, not motorised like Scott's, just the normal pedal kind. It kind of sucked, but when he put his full energy into it, he got places just as fast as cars or buses. Being a werewolf sure gave people a 'pedal-power' which was unmatched. Hopping on, he dodged the cars in the parking lot, forcing a slow but normal pace until he hit the side roads around the school. Once there, he could go. Fast.

The wind pushed his hair back as he increased in speed, zooming down bumpy back roads and swerving around corners so quickly he almost crashed into trees several times, shouting curses every time he collided with a low branch or tree. After the first ten minutes, he really started to feel worn out: all the muscles in his legs screaming for air as he panted heavily to compensate for the exercise, thankful the trip was a short one: a warehouse on the outskirts of town, converted to a basic house by one old werewolf.

Standing in front of it, faded blue doors peeling and scratched up, he paused before knocking twice. The door creaked open, and a familiar face stood there.

"Isaac."

The young wolf tilted his head, "Peter."

"Come in," the door opened wider, and Isaac stepped into the freezing warehouse.

* * *

Allison was the only one in French with Scott, so she was the only person to notice that when he trudged in late, which wasn't unusual in itself, he had what looked like a makeshift bandage on his right hand. Blood was soaking through it. Allison frowned, but had no chance to question it – the only empty seat left was three away from hers, and two forward. Scott took it; and Allison couldn't exactly ask to move so she could talk to him. So she stayed put, but stopped listening to Miss Morrell, eyes on the alpha instead.

Scott didn't look too well. He sat twitchily, a grey-green look to his skin like he was about to throw up, while even from here, she could see he was sweating. Feverish. The hand in the bandage was nearest to her, and he kept picking at the wound, rubbing over the area or his thumbs. From a look at his blank face, Scott probably didn't even realise he was doing it. But that wouldn't do – even with his healing; the cut wouldn't heal properly if he kept re-opening it.

"Scott," she hissed, but he didn't hear, so sighing, she faked a coughing fit, hacking away and drawing the attention of everyone in the room, including him.

"Miss Argent, do you need to go to the nurse?"

"No, just a tickle in my throat" Allison smiled sweetly, but then as everyone looked away, she caught Scott's eye. 'What happened?' she mouthed, nodding to his hand, and he looked guilty.

'Got seven years bad luck' he mouthed back, and turned away before she could get in another word. Making a confused face, her mouth opened and closed a few times as she thought, then tried hissing his name again. "Scott"

Either he didn't hear, or pretended not to, because the back of Scott's head remained her only view.

Frustrated, Allison sat irritably in her seat for a few minutes, bobbing her legs and tapping her pencil, before she had an idea. Scrunching up the sheet she was writing on, Allison took the screwed-up ball of paper and with her archer's aim – threw it. It hit off the back of Scott's head, but unfortunately ricocheted further and caused attention.

"Miss Argent," Miss Morrell said, more sharply now, "if you keep disturbing my class I'll have to ask you to leave."

Allison nodded sincerely, "sorry - muscle spasm." She had turned a shade of red now from the looks of the class, but tried smiling her way out of it. Lydia would have been proud of her confidence right then.

"Just make sure it doesn't happen again."

Allison caught Scott's eyes again, raising an eyebrow as if to say 'will it have to happen again?' and the alpha sighed. Then, as he looked at something behind her, Scott's eyes widened in fear. Allison whirled around in confusion, expecting to see some monstrosity waiting there – but it was just Danny.

She turned back, but Scott was still staring at their friend in irate horror, eyes bulging and tense. The only sign she got before he moved was a clenching of fists.

With a roar, Scott leapt over his chair and crashed across the room; angry and yelling, he stopped at Danny's chair and raised a clenched fist. He would have brought it down on their friend, if it had not been for Allison. A few seconds warning might have been all she had, but she was quick on her feet, too. As Scott had charged, she had ran around the other side of the desk, meeting him as he stopped in front of Danny and catching his arm before it made contact.

Toe to toe with him, struggling to hold back the punch, she desperately looked into his eyes. "Scott?" she asked, looking for something there that was familiar, but his eyes were cold. Dead. "Scott!"

He tried to shove her out of the way, but she was immovable, grabbing onto his shirt collars and pulling his face close to hers, forcing him to listen. "Scott, listen to me. This is real; that's Danny you're attacking. You have to stop" She whispered, and something dawned on Scott's face: eyes unfogging, becoming self-aware again, he blinked and looked around, finding a confusedly afraid Danny standing behind Allison. His gaze shifted back to hers, and she nodded, "we have to get you out of here."

Allison's fingers uncurled from where they were twisted in his clothes, and he turned, swaying, before running out of the room. Allison stared after him, making a split-second decision to follow him.

Snatching up all their things, bags and jackets thrown over her arms, she stumbled out of the room, shouting as explanation, "What I have must be catching!"

* * *

"I assume you came for a reason?" Peter asked, walking into his 'home', if that was the word. The warehouse did look a lot better than when he'd moved in – in the far corner, there was a second floor platform in which he mainly lived; there was an old couch and a bed, with working electricity and water installed a few weeks ago, photos and books stacked across the 'bedroom'.

"I was hoping you could help us."

"Why would I do that? Out of the whole pack, only you have thought to even bother checking if I was alive in the past month" Peter said, and he had a point.

Isaac sighed, "Scott didn't know if you were interested in working with him, and you're not exactly trustworthy."

"Oh, now you're just being hurtful."

"Are you gonna help or not?" Isaac snapped, almost regretting his decision to come.

"Depends if I can. What is it you want?"

Isaac chose his words carefully, as the older man started pacing, back to him. "You've heard about the killings in town?"

"They were in the papers."

"Do you know what's been causing them?"

"Well, you obviously know something, so you might as well get to it."

Jaw clenched, Isaac finally asked. "What do you know about Hellhounds?"

And unknown to him, a smile appeared on Peter's face, hidden by a turned back.

* * *

"Wait! Scott, wait a minute!" Allison ran after him, but he was quicker, and not carrying a ton of stuff. Groaning, she threw their bags into an empty storeroom, filled with cleaning solutions and mops, before kicking the handle off the other side of the door. That should keep it safe.

Running faster down the hall now, she made it to the next corner, empty apart from herself, in time to see the door to the pool clicking shut. For the second time that day, she followed him.

Pushing the door open, she stepped into the low light of the pool room, dark and quiet. The sound of the water drowned out everything else, and she could almost forget she was at school. Only the lights in the pool were on, blue dancing across the room in the reflection of the water's movement, and in the haze she saw him, kneeling next to the edge and staring into the pool.

Moving more slowly now, in a resigned way, Allison crossed over to him, kicking off her boots to dangle her feet into the pool. Her dress, grey wool, hitched up a little to stop it getting wet, she splashed her toes about. Allison sat beside him, not saying a word.

"I thought Danny was the Hellhound," Scott said quietly after a few minutes, "he had red eyes – everyone did."

"You're seeing things?"

"I guess so."

"How long?"

"Just today. It was like a sickness."

Allison nodded, unsurprised, "how did you hurt your hand?"

"Punched a mirror" he answered, "I wasn't feeling well so I went to try and calm down. I was looking in the mirror and all of a sudden . . . _I _was the Hellhound. I had these horrible red eyes, and I-I was a monster. I was the monster."

"You're not, though. You're the one fighting it."

"What if I'm becoming it?" Scott asked fearfully, and she could hear the emotion in his voice. He was more scared than ever. "What if when fighting a monster, you risk becoming one yourself? I'm already a monster. A werewolf. But almost attacking Danny? –I'm seeing threats everywhere – what if I hurt someone? What if I _kill_ someone?"

Allison reached out to hold his arm, thumb rubbing across his elbow soothingly, "You won't."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I know _you_," Allison said, smiling a little, "out of all of us, you were always the best. Never hurting anyone, not even when they deserve it; you're the one who saves people – trust me, I'm not scared of you, and you shouldn't be either."

Scott laughed bitterly, "You don't know me that well anymore, then. I'm not the same as I was when..." he trailed off, never saying the words 'when we were together'.

Allison, too, must have heard the unspoken words, speaking angrily but flustered. "We might not be together anymore, but that doesn't mean I don't know you. You're still my friend – I still trust you! You're a good man, Scott."

She had gone bright red, colour contrasted with the blue of the water when Scott looked over.

"Do you really believe that?" Scott said in a different voice, staring up at her dependently now, with those big eyes of his.

"Of course I do," she said. "Always have."

"Thank you."

Allison made a face at the odd comment, brows furrowing. "For what?"

"Uh, believing in me, I guess" Scott answered, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"You're welcome" she said, letting go of his arm after realizing she was still stroking it, then adding with a smile, "I guess."

* * *

"Hellhounds?" Peter turned back to him, and Isaac swore he saw a smile slip off the older man's face as he turned, "Absolutely nothing."

Isaac saw an opportunity, "You sure? 'Cause the others didn't even think it, they were too busy with the new hunter-"

"-there's a new hunter?"

"Yeah, Steph – she's great."

Peter looked outraged. "Have you all gone mad?"

Isaac ignored the comment, going on, "they were so busy trying to get information out of her that they forgot about the only other person with an extensive knowledge on the supernatural," he nodded at Peter, "you."

Although he knew trying to play Peter was a risky business, Isaac knew he had to try something. It was true – out of everyone in town, Peter and Deaton had always been the ones in the know. Minefield or not, he might be able to work something out of the other wolf.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Peter smirked, starting to climb the stairs to his bedroom.

"I wasn't trying to-"

"Play me? Get me to tell you something? Of course not" The other man said sarcastically, disappearing out of sight into the metal cage that was the platform. There was a moments silence, when Isaac wasn't sure whether that was a dismissal or not and started to walk away, before a voice shouted. "That doesn't mean I'm _not_ going to help you!"

As he turned, Isaac found Peter leaning over the railings, holding a thick book. He threw it down, and the boy caught it wordlessly.

"Seriously, you young wolves – so temperamental" Peter sighed dramatically, as Isaac leafed through the pages of the old volume. They were yellow with age, oddly stained and torn with what looked like blood. A page had been folded by Peter, the title: Hellhounds. It was promising.

"Where did you get this?" he asked uncertainly.

"A hunter who wasn't as good as fighter as he boasted," Peter said with no shame in his tone.

"Oh. Why am I not surprised?"

"Because it's not surprising."

Isaac tilted his head in agreement. "Thanks." He shook the book, and started walking out again.

"Just a question, in return," Peter asked, and the other wolf stopped again, facing him, "I know about Hellhounds from books. This hunter – how do they know about the beasts?"

Isaac paused, trying to think how Peter could abuse this information in the future, but could find no harm in it. He looked up. "Experience."

It might have been the lighting, but for a second something came across Peter's face, like a twitch. His eyes squinted, and his entire composure collapsed; fear? Uncertainty? Suspicion? Then the mask was back up and Peter was back. "Sounds like an interesting girl – what did you say her name was?"

"Steph" When the other wolf inclined his head in acknowledgement, Isaac knew the conversation was done, turning to leave for the final time. As soon as he left the warehouse, he breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that was one close encounter he was glad to be done with. Checking his watch, Isaac saw he had about four minutes before he was officially late for his next class. He saw that as a challenge. Stuffing the book into his bag, he jumped back onto his bike and pedalled without restraint until the world was a blur.

* * *

It was going okay until Scott freaked again. They had been sitting, side by side, at the pools edge for just over an hour, sometimes talking, sometimes silent. It was alright; almost peaceful. Sure, they'd get yelled at for skipping class, but as the pool was hardly used this time of year they weren't interrupted.

"Have you had any nightmares?" Scott asked.

"Not yet."

"What do you think they'll be of?"

"It's not something I really want to think about," Allison replied, lips pressed together in a thin line. She knew what they would be, and was in no rush to see those things again.

"I don't know what mine will be," Scott admitted, "there's so much stuff – but good things came from some of the bad, you know? If I'd have never been bitten, I wouldn't have got onto the Lacrosse team, have met you or Derek or Isaac. It wasn't too great as a whole, but at least something positive came from it."

"That's good – nice optimism."

"It's the opposite that scares me – going back to how it was before."

Allison frowned, "How so?"

"It's like I was saying at the Motel – before all this, I was nothing. I wasn't a leader or an alpha, I couldn't even run to play Lacrosse. All I had was my mom and Stiles. That was it. I was pretty much alone all my life-" his face had played again, as he changed to sit as Allison did, feet in the pool. "Not as bad as most people, of course. But still, there was just me."

"How is that a bad thing?" Allison laughed, "You're _Scott freaking McCall_! That's awesome. Who cares if you couldn't chase a ball round a field? I don't. You were still you."

"I wasn't the same back then."

"Bullshit" Allison called out, and Scott started at the sudden fierceness. "No one becomes that good a person because of a dumb werewolf bite. You were still that leader, that friend, that hero – it just took this to bring it out in you. It was always there."

"Then why did my dad leave?"

At his sudden sadness, coming off him in waves she could sense, Allison sympathetically felt herself slump, high head turning down. "I- I don't know."

"Was it me? Mom? We're we not good enough for him? Maybe I wasn't a good enough son to make him stick around. Maybe I was never enough."

He was breathing strangely again, panting as his hands shook in his lap. On the verge of another breakdown. He had never been one to complain or be ruled by emotions. Scott was more the type who faced his own problems instead of succumbing to them, so this new attitude must have been a result of their sacrifice and the nemeton. First, it got Stiles – now Scott was falling down to it. That didn't leave much hope for her. Allison was too busy noticing this, to say anything more. Scott spoke again, taking her silence as agreement.

"That's my whole life, really. 'Not enough.' I wasn't enough for him to stay, or to really save this town, or for anyone."

That was when Allison decided to intervene before it got too far. With a roll of her eyes, she pushed the distracted werewolf – right into the pool. He hit the water with a splash which backfired on her, submerged momentarily. Scott's dark hair bobbed beneath the surface, completely motionless for a second, arms splayed and floating peacefully. Allison panicked, thinking it had been too much. What if this triggered a flashback? It had been a bad idea.

But as soon as the thoughts crossed her mind, Scott became reanimated, kicking back strongly to the surface. He broke the water line with his arms, head re-emerging with a spray of water as he sucked in air. When his eyes opened a second later, they looked relieved.

"Thanks," he said.

"It was my pleasure."

The comment, and the smirk accompanying it, earned Allison a generous soaking from a splash.

* * *

Lydia was waiting outside the school after her last lesson, as she always did, to give Allison a ride home. It was routine, which she liked, and gave the two a chance to talk every day.

What she didn't expect, however, was for Allison to show up late and damp, with Scott behind her – soaked head to toe.

The comment had left her mouth before reaching her brain. "Looks like you guys had fun."

Allison pouted. "Oh, yeah. We had a blast."

"Moody. I can still leave you here."

"But you won't" Allison chirped confidently, stalking past Lydia to wait beside the other girl's car. The blonde turned to the dripping boy.

"Do I want to know?"

Scott shrugged, "Probably not."

She hooked an eyebrow, "Did anything happen between you two?"

"No!"

"Well, that wasn't overly defensive at all" she said, then left before he had chance to answer. "See you tonight!"

Scott was left still dripping onto the sidewalk.

* * *

"Crap, I forgot my phone!" Allison cursed, ten minutes into their drive home. She and Scott had kicked down the storeroom door for their bags and coats, but her phone must have fallen out. Frantically searching her purse, something told her it was hopeless.

"Seriously? So now we have to go all the way back there to find it?" Lydia demanded.

The other girl tried a hopeful smile, ". . . sorry?"

"You're so going to pay for this one day."

"I don't doubt it."

Lydia swung them around, and they were back at the school in no time. Still, people cleared out quickly as soon as they were free from the chains of education, and the school was deserted. Pulling into one of many free parking spaces, the girls hopped out of the car, taking the steps two at a time to get back to the main building. Even Scott was gone by now.

"Where is it?" Lydia asked, as they paced the long corridor.

"Just in here," careful not to knock the door too much, which was already damaged by them and hanging off the hinges, Allison went into the cramped storeroom, scanning the floor for her phone.

"Well?" Lydia asked after a moment, hand on hip. Just as Allison had thrown her hands up in the air and given up, something flashed under a shelf and she dropped to the floor, snatching up her phone with a cry of delight.

"Got it!"

"Wonderful!" Lydia exclaimed with similar but sarcastic enthusiasm, "Can we go now?"

They made their way out again, propping the door back up behind them, ready to be found broken tomorrow and walked calmly down the corridor. The heels Lydia wore clicked softly, but Allison's boots made no sound, so when loud voices started in a room ahead, they heard immediately. Face creasing into a frown, Allison held a finger to her lips and indicated for Lydia to follow her, creeping along the hall, closer to the sounds.

"I'm afraid to inform you that the body of one of your members of staff has been found in the woods earlier today" a voice said, and peeping briefly around the corner, Allison saw it belonged to one of a pair of cops, talking to the principle. "Jenifer Blake? We wanted to tell the next of kin, but couldn't find any records."

"She's dead? She hasn't been in school, but we assumed she'd left town. I'm sorry to hear it," the principle replied sincerely.

"Do you have any idea where we could find her family?"

"No, I'm afraid not. She only joined us a few months ago . . . had fantastic qualifications, great recommendations – I never really thought to ask about her family."

"But surely you have records?" one of the cops asked suspiciously.

"Not on family. Health, yes, for the insurance, but family's not the kind of information we need. I would have thought family information is on her medical records, at the hospital?"

"That makes two of us" the cop said, "but there's nothing. Not even a record of her ever having visited the hospital, or even the doctor's."

"That's terrible, to not be able to tell her family."

"Well, be sure to call us if you find anything," one of the cops said, moving to leave, but the principle called after him.

"Wait! I don't suppose you could tell me . . . how did she die?"

"Not officially," the one cop said. "But off the record – her throat was slit. Looked like an animal attack."

The girl's never heard any more than that, as a door slamming somewhere nearby pulled them to their senses, and they quickly moved away before they were caught listening in. Running slightly, they padded out of the school building; neither breathing until they were outside.

"So, they found her" Lydia said, and didn't sound sorry at all. But Jenifer had tried to kill her, so her lack of sympathy was somewhat acceptable.

"Guess so."

"Is that trouble for us?"

"I don't know yet, hopefully the Sheriff will be able to cover our tracks," Allison said, "but I'll tell you one thing: after today, I need some good news. I'm going to call that hunter and invite her to dinner, and then when she's there I'll ask her to train me – you will come, won't you?"

"Learning to fight – no thanks."

"Not just that: lore, tactical skills – you could ask her about the Banshee thing."

"I'm not even sure I want to know," Lydia admitted, "But you're right, we need to be prepared."

"You'll come?"

"Of course," the blonde smiled, "I still want to_ meet_ the new girl properly, and I wouldn't want to miss dinner with a group of mistrustful hunters all trying to work each other out."

Realizing her friend was right about that, and how tense a dinner this would probably be, Allison groaned. "This wasn't a good idea."

* * *

**A/N (again): **_hhmmmnn I'm not sure whether I like this chapter, but here it is. Big things happening soon! the next two chapters are going to be vital, so stay tuned to see whether Scott & Co can beat the Hellhound. And even from then, things are not going to be simple. Scott is very down in this chapter, but he's a kid and has been through a lot. He just needs to remember why he's fighting (coming soon). Okay, thats enough, I'm out. Til the next time - Meg._


	8. Preach disobedience

**A/N: **_A day late, but hey Sherlock was back last night - what's a girl to do! I got distracted! This chapter starts from Derek and Steph's POV where they left off two chapters ago, and straight on from Lydia and Allison's in the last chapter. So slight cutting around with the timelines. Okay, more at the end-_

* * *

'Preach disobedience'

Derek and Steph were back at Deaton's, the forest far behind but far from safe; just about to go their separate ways, when the hunter got a text and groaned. The alpha turned at the sound, to find the kid's face screwed up and desolate; he smirked at the sight.

"What is it?" Derek asked.

"Text from 'Katniss', she wants me to come to dinner with her and Mr. Argent tonight."

The werewolf winced, "Dinner with the Argents? You have my full sympathies."

"Think it's not safe?"

"About as safe as sleeping with a shark."

Steph made a face as if considering this, "is it at least a handsome shark?"

"Shut up" Derek said, hiding a laugh as he got into the Camaro and started the engine. "Just be careful with the Argents; they mean well but, uh, they can sometimes go overboard. Dress smart. I'll see you at the Pack meeting tonight?" Steph nodded in answer, as he started pulling out of the driveway, turning up the asphalt into clouds of dust, smoke on the wind.

"Stay safe!" Derek shouted through the window, and Steph lifted a hand in goodbye as he sped away, dreading what the evening might bring. A proper, real dinner would be nice – but swimming with sharks wasn't on her bucket list.

"'Dress smart' huh?" Steph mused aloud, looking down at her grass-stained, dusty and now muddy jeans and few days old shirt. Somehow, she didn't think they would quite cut it for a formal dinner. Clicking open the trunk, she glanced hopelessly at the rest of her clothes, which looked similarly distressed; she would have no time to have them cleaned. She bit her lip, "That might just be a problem."

* * *

"Dad, will you just calm down? It's dinner, not a hunt." Allison sighed, after being lectured about inviting 'unknown, possibly dangerous individuals' to the house. She was sick of her dad being so overprotective. Hadn't she proved she could look after herself already? Saved him? It was like a broken record with him.

"It is now, yeah," Chris Argent argued, "but I'm not dumb – you'll be learning every cheap trick and dark secret from her in no time – that life's too dangerous for you, Al."

"It's just dinner," Allison said again, more strongly. She took a step forwards.

"I don't like it."

"Why? We need to know how to fight these things, I'm going to find out somehow – would you rather it was from a professional or crap off the internet? 'Cause I think I know which is safer."

"Neither" Mr. Argent snapped. "People die doing this."

"I know."

"And the fact that you don't seem to care worries me."

"I care! I want to live, and go out with my friends and graduate – but we need to save the town to do that. I'm in now, dad. I have to do this," Allison shouted, but then flailed out, slowing to a desperate plea. Her father turned away, thinking before he spoke.

"Dinner," he said, "she can come, but if I don't like her after that, if I think she's dangerous – that's it."

"Thank you! Thank you, dad." Allison squeaked, happily grinning as she clamped a hand over her face, spinning a little on one heel, "Lydia's staying too, by the way!"

Then she vanished with a click of her boots, and her father sighed. He didn't like this. What their family did was one thing: they had each other's backs and stayed out of the really dark stuff. Hunting elsewhere was different. It was bloody; it was scary; it usually ended in a very violent and short life. Allison was worn down, but she was still whole; still there. He didn't want to risk her loosing that innocence for anything.

This would not end well.

* * *

"Derek," Scott greeted with a nod, as the other wolf turned up finally. Scott was sitting on the doorsteps to Derek's old loft; he had been watching the keys since he and Cora had left but now Derek had asked for them back. Whether or not that meant Derek was moving back to town, Scott didn't know. He just knew it was cold out, and his ass was stiff from sitting and waiting for so long. "Thanks for showing."

"Thanks for waiting" the man replied without emotion, either not realizing the sarcasm or choosing to ignore it. Scott missed his smirk as Derek passed.

"Here's the keys" Scott handed them over, standing awkwardly, "I haven't cleaned inside or anything, but no one has been in there, it's all the same."

Derek nodded. "Coming in?"

"Sure" Scott said, following him in. He'd held back long enough, blurting out, "I was surprised to hear from you, I thought you'd still be with Steph. What did you find out?"

"A lot," Derek answered, running a hand over one of the tabletops as they came into the loft, covered in a few centimetres of dust. He made a face of disgust.

"You wanna expand on that?"

"The Hellhound is a rogue. Stephs making a plan for later, but right now she's been called in for dinner with the Argents. I think they want to scope her out."

"Damn," Scott cursed, looking down worriedly, "perhaps I'd better go check on them."

"Don't bother" Derek waved him off as Scott started to leave, "the other thing I learnt is that the kid can handle herself."

"Still not trusting her?"

"The opposite, actually, I'm grateful to have her around now. She's a good kid" Derek said, still wiping at the countertops with a cloth he'd pulled from a cabinet, scanning the home pitifully. There was sympathy; a soft affection in his voice that Scott was unused to, and the alpha squinted in confusion.

"Really?"

"No, really I killed her and buried her in the woods" Derek deadpanned with a lifted eyebrow, and Scott started so badly it was like he'd been electrocuted.

"Funny" the alpha snapped, glaring at the chuckling Derek. "This is why no one likes you."

"I can kick you out anytime, you know."

"Only if you want to take on the new alpha" Scott said smugly, grinning a little and tilting his head up, and Derek flat-out laughed.

"I taught you everything you know" he replied, sides still heaving at Scott's proud face. The 'alpha' drooped a little, trying to think of an argument and failing, so he changed the subject instead. Things were so much easier now. Joking and laughing instead of dying and fighting.

"Where did you go?"

"The woods, the crossroads-"

"Not today. When you left Beacon Hills."

Derek sighed, "Away."

"Are you staying?"

"I don't know yet."

Scott nodded thoughtfully, not dismissing it as an idea. It would be useful to have Derek, an experienced werewolf, back again. "Is Cora coming back?"

"No." Suddenly Derek was off on a tangent again, telling the young boy about Cora's success and how well things were working out for her. They had both come a long way. And maybe it was time he found his way back.

"That really is amazing" Scott said, and there was pride in his own voice which Derek looked up sharply at. The kid was beaming, like it was his own family thriving out there. Maybe it was. "I'm happy as hell for you both. I'm sorry to bring you back now – perhaps you should go back."

Derek shook his head. "This is home. When it's in trouble like it is now, there's no question; I'm helping. You did the right thing."

"Do you think we can fix it?"

"I wish I knew," Derek answered, "but I think with the hunter we have a chance."

And there it was again, that odd tone to the older man's voice. The war veteran with hope again; a new friend or certainly ally bringing an idea to end a war long fought against the shadow over Beacon Hills. Warmth unexpected. Scott understood completely. The softness towards the new arrival in Derek's disposition was mirrored in his own.

Scott McCall grinned. "She really gets under your skin, doesn't she?"

Derek laughed again, shaking his head, "damn her." Then he frowned as he thought, turning back to his friend. "She was sleeping in her car this morning, when I couldn't find her."

The alpha frowned, "She never said . . ."

"I wouldn't expect her to. But I'm going to offer her to come live here with me, in Cora or Peter's old room."

"That's kind" Scott said. "Good idea."

"Speaking of which, where _is_ my uncle?"

"He stayed away, and to be honest, I wasn't totally opposed. We left him to it."

"Now who's got trust issues?" Derek smirked.

"He did kill quite a few people."

"-I take it back."

* * *

When Steph stood on the Argent's doorstep at 5:45, pressing the doorbell firmly and waiting with her hands tied in knots behind her back, she looked a lot cleaner than she had that morning. This was probably why Lydia gasped and stepped back with shock when she and Allison opened the door.

Steph still had her black hair tied up in a ponytail, hiding its poor condition, but her clothes looked new or at least cleaned. She wore shining black brogues, patterns swirling and pretty, over dark tights leading to light denim shorts. On top of that was a white t-shirt, nothing special in itself but suiting the 'smart-casual' ideal perfectly with a black blazer. It was so different than the tough hunting clothes and so . . . feminine, the pair was shocked, standing in the doorway. Lydia's shock quickly changed to thoughtful consideration and appraisal, the silence drawing out.

"Hi" Allison greeted awkwardly after a short silence.

"Hey," Steph nodded a little uncomfortably, shifting on her feet in the doorway before being invited in. "Thanks for inviting me."

As she smiled and stepped through, both the other girls watched her go, as Steph glanced curiously around the Argent residence, resting on old family photos. She pointed to one."You?"

"Um, no," Allison said disjointedly, staring at the picture in question like it was a despicable thing. It was easy to see the mistake. A girl of about ten with dark hair grinned up from the frame, but it wasn't Allison. "That was my aunt, Kate."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It doesn't matter!" Allison cut her flustered apology off, more sharply than she'd intended, before forcing another smile. "It's fine, really. Dinner's through there."

Relieved at being let off from her simple mistake, Steph dashed off in the direction the other girl pointed without another word, face red and flushed. She moved quickly. Lydia followed with a questioning look to her friend, but Allison just nodded reassuringly. Alone, the young Argent took a deep breath and repeated in her head a mantra she had said way too much over the past few years.

_I am not Kate. I will not become Kate. _

It was simple; it had been there since her aunt's death. A hope. It was a certain thing, but the thing she feared perhaps the most. She would not be that. She would be better than that. It was ages ago, the night where she had almost killed Scott, her crazy aunt the devil on her shoulder. Allison had not been in her right mind, which seemed to be an excuse used too often to explain away her actions. It was starting to worry her.

And now Steph, who knew nothing of this, thought Kate had been Allison. It meant nothing, of course: they had looked a lot alike when they were younger. Steph didn't know what had happened. It was an innocent comment, but picked at the other girls mind like a pick axe hacking away at the cave. _It meant nothing, _she told herself, and tried to believe it. She had been forgiven; she had moved on. But she was not done – if redemption was possible, she was getting it by protecting the town now. Calmer now, Allison straightened her back and walked confidently into the next room.

* * *

"So, tell me, how did someone so young get into a life like this?" When Chris Argent made that his opening conversation topic, Stephanie knew dinner would not go well.

"Quid pro quo" she responded playfully, the impression and accent better than she'd expected, calmly taking a bite. "I don't know nearly enough about you to know whether you're trustworthy of the answers. Plus, unless you've got a warrant for my arrest I'm generally opposed to interrogation."

"-He's sorry" Allison cut in, earning her an irritated look from her dad, "it's just, you know how hunters are. Trust the wrong people and it could get you killed."

"I get it, you can't trust me yet. Honestly, I'd think you were stupid if you did."

Allison smirked, liking her more and more, but Mr. Argent wasn't impressed. "Playing games won't get you anywhere" he said; frowning a little, brow furrowed in thought and arms crossed like a bouncer.

"Who's playing?" Steph asked innocently; bite creeping into her tone, "I'm working."

"And what about school? A life?"

"I haven't been to school in two years."

"Really? How do you get by the cops?" Allison asked, genuinely curious to the life of a hunter. If she wanted to keep doing this long-term, she needed to know the details. Surprisingly, her dad had asked a good question about school, something which could be useful to her. "How do you live; get food and water, or money?"

Steph looked slightly abashed, "I steal what I need; scam for cash. It's not honourable, but you have to make some compromises. You don't need too much, living on the road."

"You live in your car?" Lydia asked, judgement slipping into the question.

"I go where the work is. There usually isn't enough time to put down roots."

"Then why don't you just . . . stop? Go back to school and live a normal life?"

The hunter actually laughed at that, looking more like her usual self despite her dressed up appearance as she clutched her sides until the laugh subsided. "I wish it was that easy. The way I see it: if I don't save them, people die. If there's even a chance I can stop a kid from being orphaned, or save some poor sap of a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time, or stop people from turning to revenge against the things I hunt – well, it's my duty."

"-Will you teach me?" Allison blurted out at the end of the speech, eager and wide-eyed. Then, regaining some composure, she looked at Lydia, "-us, that is. I want to know how to fight these things."

"I don't think that's a good idea" Mr. Argent put in, looking alarmed.

"No," Steph agreed, straight face before cracking a grin, "it's a great one."

"I disagree, it's reckless and risking you life for no point. Allison, I'm sorry, but the answers no."

Allison looked desperate, "But dad-"

Steph interrupted with a self-satisfied smile, "Surprising, Mr. A. I'd have thought you of all people would want her to learn this stuff. I mean, things are going to attack this town, and she's a hunter by blood – surely you'd prefer her not going in blind?"

"I – I just-" Allison's dad stuttered, looking between his daughter's hopeful face and the confidence of the hunter at his table.

"What? Would rather wrap her up in bubble wrap and make believe it's all fine until something rips her throat out because she doesn't know what to do?" At the hunter's words, Mr. Argent flinched. "Wouldn't you rather she has the skills, and even if she goes on to live a totally normal life of taxes and marriage and dull office work, so that if disaster strikes – she's prepared?"

"Of course I would-"

"Good! Glad it won't be a problem" Steph smiled sweetly, and Allison had to stifle a laugh at winning for once. It felt damn good to feel like she was changing.

"When can we start?" the young Argent asked.

"As soon as we can. I've always wanted a student," Steph said proudly, looking over at Allison as if thinking of all the possible things she could teach, "This should be fun."

"I thought it was supposed to be important" Mr. Argent challenged dryly.

"Don't be boring all your life, Mr. A."

And just like that, it was decided.

* * *

Dinner with the Argents went just about as badly as Steph had expected, and the whole way through it she could see Derek's smirking face inside her head, and hear every dumb sarcastic comment he would have made at her. She knew the first thing he'd say when she got to the Pack meeting was 'I told you so'.

In fact, as she cruised up to the old Hale house at 9pm, where it was decided they all would meet, he wore the exact same smirk when she pulled up. Shaking her head to hide a grin, Steph jumped out of her car and walked over to the steps, where he and Scott waited at the top. As she hopped up the steps, the older man opened his mouth, so she held up a threatening finger to it.

"Don't say it."

Derek cracked a rare smile as she strode into the shack, eyes met with the Sheriff and Stiles, Melissa McCall and Deaton. The Argents and Lydia were on their way. She dropped her backpack on the floor just as everyone else came in; the Argents just arrived.

"Plan?" Scott asked.

"Plan" she nodded. "Grumpy and I-"

Derek shouted, "-Hey!"

"-Found out it was a rogue Hellhound going about the town, not one on contract. The guy whose picture was in the box was its original purpose here, but because of the crack the Nemeton caused in the town-"

"How do you– We were going to tell- you know about the Nemeton," Stiles spluttered, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, thanks for the heads up."

". . . And she's mad."

"No, I'm not."

"It shows," Stiles said sarcastically.

"You're avoiding the point – what you did created a weak spot, where all matter of dark things can get through the protections of the town. It's like an exposed nerve; a vulnerable point. It got in for the deal, but the crack severed the leash and it's been killing at will ever since" Steph explained, edge of irritation creeping into her voice which she quickly pushed down.

"Then how do we kill it?" Scott asked.

"There are 3 ways; we decided that killing it at the site where it broke through – the Nemeton – would be the most effective. That tree is a source of power still, so by killing the Hellhound at the same place it will not only weaken the creature but also, if we're lucky – really lucky – the blood of the Hellhound will seal the crack." As the hunter finished speaking, silence filled the room, each person present pondering the endless possibilities of the night.

The Nemeton, defeated again. The end to all their nightmares.

"I thought it wasn't possible to undo the sacrifice" Deaton said calmly, breaking the mood.

"How much did you really know?" Steph questioned.

"How much do _you_?"

"Enough."

"Then let's do it," Scott said decisively, the tension between the hunter and emissary too much for him. For the first time in weeks, his eyes gleamed; he looked hopeful. "If there's even a chance, isn't it worth it?"

"Yes" Allison answered immediately, and Stiles nodded. It was their fault, and therefore their battle, after all. After a few moments, everyone in the room was agreed. They would do this. Even if it didn't work, it was worth a shot.

"How do we do this?" the Sheriff finally asked.

"Everyone who wants to fight, and won't get in the way, can stay. That means your wolves, Scotty," she nodded to the alpha, "and the Argents. I went to the Nemeton site after dinner-"

"You didn't know where it was - how did you find it?" Isaac interrupted, and he had a point.

"After all these years, you get a sense for these things. I followed my gut."

"Impossible."

"Argue all you want. I scoped it out and marked down all possible vantage points on this map," Steph pulled out a creased map of Beacon Hills, with a stamp from the library in the corner and scribbled crosses all over it. Pointing to a red cross, she spoke again, "that's the nemeton. Look here, this ridge is just over it to the East, you see?"

They all nodded, crouching as she did to study the map, which was laid out on the dirty floor. She had the Nemeton marked exactly where they all knew it to be. She had found it.

"I want the Argents up there, covering us. You brought your weapons like I asked?"

"I have my bow" Allison said, pulling at the dark weapon slung over her shoulder and arrows on her back. "Dad has guns. We can do it." Throughout this, Mr. Argent was looking at his daughter's determined face, and held back a sigh when she was finished. At least on the ridge they would be out of the main firing zone.

He nodded, consenting too, "What about the rest of you?"

"Me and the Wolves take the Hellhound at the Nemeton. But for their own sakes I suggest you get your parents out, right now" Steph said, looking up from her crouched position at the Sheriff, who reluctantly nodded. "Why do you think the meetings here? We do this – tonight."

"Yep, definitely over-dramatic" Lydia remarked.

"You love it" Steph replied with a cheeky grin. "You better get out of here too."

"Oh, don't worry," the blonde help up a hand, "I'm gone."

"-And Stiles" the Sheriff spoke up again, causing a minor disturbance in the peace, "he goes too."

"No way!" his son shouted.

"Yes way" the Sheriff said sternly. "I've done as you asked, stayed out of the way for weeks – but I can't watch you stay in such danger anymore. If you stay, I will too."

"But you can't, you've got to get the others out of the woods."

"I'm sure we could figure something else out."

"But dad – I can't leave them!"

"And I can't let you do this!" the Sheriff yelled, and Stiles flinched away before his father continued in a quieter voice, "I thought you were dead on Monday when you wouldn't wake up. That can't be a reality, Stiles. Now, I've let you do things your way but I'm putting my foot down – you go home."

"But-"

"Actually, Sheriff, I need Stiles" Steph said, interrupting their argument, and the Sheriff looked at her angrily, "he's the only one the Hellhound let go. That night with Scott – they both should have died. But it let him go. We need to know why."

"You want to use him as bait?" The Sheriff yelled.

"He'll be safe, I promise you."

"No! Absolutely not!"

"Dad, I have to do this!" Stiles shouted, matching his dad's level of anger. "She's right – why did it let me go? It could have killed me in a second. We all saw it; what it's capable of."

"You saw it? When?" Chris Argent asked, face confused, and they all turned to him in shock.

Stiles made a face, "In the forest, the night Steph came – it chased us all, remember?"

"Something chased us – but we didn't see it."

"Yes, we did."

"You couldn't see it, Mr. Argent?" the hunter asked, getting up the stand in the middle of the cluster forming, wanting to break the tension before it all erupted, feeling the heat in the room grow and tilting her head.

"I saw a blur, trees moving, twigs snapping – but not the beast" Mr. Argent said, still staring at them all in confusion before turning to his daughter, "did you see it?"

"Y-Yes" Allison answered fearfully.

"What does it mean?" Mr. Argent demanded, getting to his feet and rounding on the other young hunter, who backed away but held her head up defiantly.

She shook her head, "I don't know. But we have to do this, and stop it. I didn't realize before . . . the case I got pulled off to come here, they're connected. There's been a war for this coastline. More attacks than usual, hoards of every horrible thing imaginable all in one place, crowding down the East Coast."

"So?" Scott asked.

"Don't you see? They were all headed _here_. The crack, drawing them in – to Beacon Hills. It's been going on for weeks, this fight, I've been in it - and so has every hunter who can get here. Everyone fighting to keep this area safe, but if it's the nemeton, there's no chance of us winning. Me, my friends: we've been fighting for nothing. The real fight is right here. This isn't even a question of stopping a Hellhound anymore – we have to close this crack." She looked up sympathetically, "Sheriff, I _am_ sorry, but we need Stiles to do this."

The Sheriff stared, "Please-"

"I give you my word, Mr. Stilinski. I'll protect him, by my own life" she said desperately.

"Me too," Scott added, standing beside her, "Nothing will happen to Stiles."

"It's my own choice, dad. I want to – no, I _need_ to help them" Stiles said, taking the lead in the trio. Faced against the three teens, looking like they could take on the world with their own bare hands, the Sheriff had to back down. He visibly drooped, eyes in the dirt, and nodded stiffly.

"Anything happens to him, and I'm holding to two of you responsible" he said, pointing to Scott and Steph. They both nodded in mutual agreement in response.

"Okay, so what's the whole plan?" Stiles asked, turning to the hunter for answers, and they all set to work.

* * *

Unfortunately, as it so often was, things went wrong beyond repair from the off.

Almost as soon as they set out from the shack, the Argents and the parents heading off in one direction to circle round to safety, a crackle in the bushes told them that they weren't alone. Everyone froze, various weapons readied in the direction of the sound. Scott walked forward to the trees hesitantly.

"That's not a good idea" Stiles hissed, "that never works in the movies."

The alpha shushed his friend, half-believing for a second that it was nothing, just some animal making them overreact. Until a pair of red eyes opened in the shadows.

"Ahh!" he cried, jerking back as the Hellhound gathered up its hunches and leapt towards him. An arrow cut through the air, slicing it into mist. Scott turned to Allison in shock, and the girl just smiled smugly, twirling an arrow in her fingertips.

"Graveyard dirt arrowheads," she explained, "Steph helped me to make them."

"Lucky," he mumbled in astonishment.

"As touching as this is, now would be the time for running" Derek put in, and they all sprang into action again, fleeing the clearing around the house for a more sheltered area in the trees. It was dark, but they were more protected than they were out in the open.

"Allison – how did you do that?" Mr. Argent asked, staring at his daughter again.

"Do what?" she answered.

"Why can she see it and I can't?" He asked again, to all of them, when it became clear Allison didn't have a clue. Steph averted her eyes, continuing to briskly walk through the undergrowth.

"We should stick to the original plan; you get them out safe" she said to him, "while we go make some noise to keep the dog off your tracks."

Infuriated, Mr. Argent chased after her, grabbing the hunter by the arm and spinning her around. He held the grip tight enough to leave bruises, "What aren't you telling us?"

"Get your hands off me!" Steph shouted, enraged as she shook his hand off; shoving him away. Although he was older and probably physically stronger, Mr. Argent stumbled backwards. She would have said more, but was interrupted.

"Steph" Scott said, not a question exactly, but forcing her into a corner. The question was there, asking her what she was hiding. In the darkness, mist clinging where the Hellhound hunted, he looked like something from a comic book.

She answered, "Other creatures of the supernatural can see them."

"Which explains why the werewolves can see them, but how can me and Allison?" Stiles asked.

The hunter tried starting the sentence a few times, trapped. Eventually, she seemed to steel herself and spoke clearly, "Damned creatures call out to one another."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you should have died," she snapped, "when you made those sacrifices, you crossed the boundaries between life and death, and no human should do that. Wolves do when they get the bite, to determine whether they survive, but people shouldn't. It goes against nature. You sacrificed more than just those few hours – by opening the crack, you caused an imbalance. That's why you can see it."

"Do you think that's why it let Stiles go? Because we sacrificed ourselves?" Scott asked.

"Because you're the same," she answered quietly.

"What? We're evil?" he asked in a frustrated tone, but then realized what she really meant as the girl dropped her gaze, "_We'redamned_?"

"Not if we can close the crack" Steph turned her chin up again defiantly, "Which, in case you haven't noticed, is kind of a priority right now as we're being tracked by a Hellhound."

Instantly, the group was back on high alert, realizing they'd been too distracted; not paying attention to where they were standing. There was Hellhound nearby, and it was hunting season. Starting to run again in formation, they were stopped only by a voice.

"Wait" Derek said, and everyone paused mid-run to look back on him. He spoke to Steph, "If they can only see it because of that sacrifice – then how can _you_ see it?"

For a brief second, the same fear from before flashed onto the girls face. But it was erased as the Hellhound crashed into the space they stood in, destroying a tree as it landed on Isaac, claws ripping into his chest.

* * *

**A/N: **_reading back on this, I'm not as happy with it as I am with some of my newer chapters, so trust me when I say it gets better. But hey look: Steph, Alli A and Lydia being bros (as they will do)! Danger! next chapter shit is going down! So review/follow/whatever, message me on tumblr or here any comments, just stick with me until saturday. Things much more fun to write are coming. And if you have ten minutes, you should check out my other Teen Wolf fic, just a little one shot I did a while ago called 'When one brother falls, Another must rise' and you can find it under my author stuff on here. Final note - HAPPY NEW YEAR! I hope this year is absolute aces for everyone. Here's to 2014 - Meg._


	9. Exposure

**A/N: **_I __**LOVE**__ this chapter title! I thought of it a while ago, but changed my mind about using it because it sounded too much like a Fall Out Boy song. Then I realized I loved it exactly for that reason._

* * *

'I've got a Radioactive Heart, and You should Avoid Exposure'

"Isaac!" a shriek and a shot rang out, scattering the beast to dust, and the Pack raced towards the boy convulsing on the ground in pain. Falling to the ground around him they anxiously looked on, as Scott knelt and held him still by the shoulder, trying to get a better look at the wound.

It was deep, a few inches at least, and the cuts were black mixed with blood. It didn't look good.

Isaac was screaming in pain, fighting against Scott's grip blindly as his throat was torn in pain. "Please!" the beta screeched, "make it stop, please make it stop!"

"I will, it's gonna be okay, I swear" Having to clench in tighter to stop his friend from worsening it by thrashing around, Scott concentrated on the grip and his veins went black, pulling out the pain. It was worse than he'd expected, the blackness darker than usual – and burning; a searing agony as he took on the pain. Scott groaned; it was agony.

"Stop! You can't do that!" Steph yelled accusingly at him, and Scott released his friend, "its poison! If you try it, you'll just get sick too."

"What can we do?" Scott shouted at Steph, who had not rushed to Isaac's side but stood above them, shotgun still aimed at the trees. Protecting. But in his haze, it felt more like coldness; like she didn't care. "Is he going to die?"

"Not if you can get him out quickly, so get on your feet and stick to the plan – Deaton, take him to your clinic when you're out. You can't let him heal over the black poison; it has to be washed out with a mixture of graveyard dirt and Wolfsbane."

"Wolfsbane? That'll kill him anyway!" Scott yelled.

"A small enough amount will just stop him from healing too soon" Steph argued, "but none of that will matter if you don't get him out now: on your feet, McCall!"

Perhaps because he was in a trance and worried,Scott jumped eagerly to his feet at the order, ready to follow it. "Stick to the plan," he said in a daze.

"We've got to make sure they can get him out safely" Derek added, catching on, "Diversion?"

Steph nodded, looking from Scott to Stiles to Derek, team Offense. "Boys – let's go make some noise."

* * *

"Hey!" Stiles waved his arms about, running frantically towards the site of the nemeton. He knew the others were somewhere nearby – but only he and Scott shared this 'link' with the creature. "Want a taste of this fine-ass piece of meat? Come and get me!"

Goading a Hellhound didn't exactly sound like the best of ideas to him, but they needed to give the others a chance to escape, and it was becoming disoriented – the beast would go after one of them, and they'd see it coming – only for it to hear someone else yelling nearby and confusedly chase after them instead, like it didn't know what to do. So he kept running and yelling, knowing the others had his back.

"Free-range Stiles, half off tonight only at Beacon Hills! Come now or we'll all regret it, we'd like to kill you please, you stupid mutt!" It was fair to say his noise was more 'creative' than the others.

But Stiles was starting to worry as he tired. Scott and Derek, without even realizing, were zooming ahead with their wolf speed and stamina in their haste to get to the nemeton and be ready for when the plan came together. Even Steph, with all her hunter training, was starting to pull ahead of him. She ran left, trying to pull the Hellhound further away in their distraction.

"Guys," he hissed, "slow down. Guys!"

But they didn't hear him. Stiles started really getting nervous now, as their shouts became more distant until the only thing he could hear was his own footsteps and heavy breathing, the panting not helped by the panic. He was human and tired quickly. Never having been the sportiest apart from Lacrosse, he had limited running power, and in the game they only sprinted with the ball. Long distance running wasn't his thing. Really, was it anyone's?

Stiles had stopped shouting, fear holding his lead tongue in his mouth. The forest suddenly seemed more sinister now he was alone: the braches, arms; the roots, traps as the darkness made it harder to see by the low light of his phone. He stumbled on one, almost falling but regaining his balance in a forward momentum, wishing he was wearing something more appropriate than skinny jeans and forcing his screaming muscles to keep going even though they begged for relief. Swinging his arms, he kept pace, looking desperately around for a sign of the others. He didn't like this one bit.

Slowing to a jog as he saw a break in the thickness of the forest ahead, Stiles noticed how cold it was out now that his muscles weren't working, mists clinging to the woods. It was freezing; his skin erupted into goose bumps as it cooled in a thin sweat, aching after all the running. He was walking, phone held high in front of him to show the safest path, when he came to a problem.

It was a ridge. The wood fell away in a steep hill with crack down the middle, another peak rising a few feet away on the other side. It didn't look too far to his eyes, in that light, but the crack was deceptive. Having the choice between trying to jump across the chasm or to take the time to cross it on foot, down the slope and back up the other side, Stiles came to a halt at the edge, glancing nervously down into the darkness.

Being in the little valley seemed like a serious disadvantage to him, as he would be vulnerable; trapped at the bottom if he were attacked there. But he saw, after trying to dispel the mists with the light of his phone, he could not see a way around it in sight; and he didn't have the time to find one. He could risk jumping, or he could expose himself climbing down the ledge.

Before he had the chance to make the choice, a branch snapped behind him, and he wheeled to see the Hellhound shining under the blue light, closing in on him. Options gone, Stiles was forced to turn back to the gap, take a few steps run up – and leap into nothingness.

* * *

"Isaac, you've got to keep going" Allison soothed, one arm around the boy's shoulders to prop him up as they walked, with Deaton supporting him from the other side. The other hand was on the dagger in her pocket. Although her father followed behind the group with guns drawn and from the racket their friends were making it was unlikely the Hellhound was targeting them, it didn't hurt to be prepared.

"It hurts" Isaac moaned weakly with his head drooping to fall on her shoulder, the effort of just staying up too much.

"I know. We're going to fix that but we have to get out of here first."

"Will you stay with me?" he asked, but weakly, and Allison felt guilt bubble up in her stomach. No, she couldn't stay with him; the others needed her to cover them. But the fastest way to get him moving again was to let him believe she would.

"Yeah," she said, the words sour in her mouth, "of course I will."

He seemed pacified by this, and together, they started making painstakingly slow progress through the woods, towards safety and a cure. But there was a long way to go, and he wasn't looking good: skin paler by the second, Isaac looked dull and fading, slowly succumbing to the poison raging like fire through him. Stumbling in agony, as the world began to haze around him, he struggled to stay upright and moving, each step a challenge.

Isaac could feel his head spinning, distorting the world around him in a kaleidoscope of greens. As he was processing this, Deaton subtly adjusted his grip on the young wolf, fingers carefully placed so that they touched his wrist. The vet concentrated on the beat beneath his fingertips for a moment, still scrabbling through the forest as he did so and a frown appeared on his face at the result of his test.

He had been checking the pulse. By the look of Isacc right then, the fever and sweat next to the panicked situation, the pulse should be racing with adrenaline, pumping fast and too quickly. Instead, and contradictory to his outwards state, Isaac's pulse was slow. Almost non-existent. Too slow to be normal, like something else he had seen this week. It was completely unnatural. Wrong. Perhaps a sign of the poison taking effect – or just a reaction to the loss of blood from the claw wounds. Was his body fighting him or _for_ him? Deaton had no clue. He had seen a lot in his life: werewolves and spirits, danger and peace, but he had never seen this.

"We need to move quicker" Deaton commented aloud. He caught Melissa McCall's eye, who had watched his grip and noticed the pulse check, and looked gravely away, spurring on their march. Time was not on their side.

* * *

On second thoughts, jumping across a gap that big from a near standstill wasn't one of the best ideas Stiles had ever had.

"Wha- ah no, crap crap no, ah shi-" was all he managed to garble out, one foot catching on the opposite ridge as the other slipped, taking dirt down with him and making his footing even more unstable. He thought for a moment he might just have chance to salvage the situation and stick the landing, as his hands immediately grabbed for something to hold on to, one catching a rock, the other a knarred tree root. He had stayed, perched precariously on the edge of the ridge, very still, for a second, holding on as tight as he could. But he had to try to climb up, the movement too much and the rest of the soil around him crumbled, one foot losing its hold completely and the disturbance creating a landslide. He crashed down with dirt and rocks, the drop not enough to kill him, but hitting off the walls of the ridge on the way down, knocking the wind out of him.

He hit the hard ground rolling, a head first tumble into the valley in-between the hills. Stiles came to a stop covered in leaves and dirt, unconscious and head bleeding from a hit on the way down – vulnerable to the Hellhound now looking down on him from on top of the ridge.

* * *

"We're almost there – its working!" Scott cried happily, craning his head to where he could hear Derek running to his right, still yelling at the top of his lungs. They had made it this far without being killed, which was always good. The nemeton was in sight; he could see the white roots up ahead. They just had to make it there and they could end all this. "We did it – Derek, Stiles – we're here!"

It was as he shouted the second name that a cold feeling spread over Scott, like he had been dunked in ice water, telling him he was missing something.

"Stiles?" he said aloud, not shouting anymore, as his running stopped and he paused at the top of a hill, looking backwards and expecting to see his friend close behind, catching up. There was no one there. Head snapping around, Scott strained to see something – to hear something telling him Stiles was there. But he wasn't. He was gone.

Scott had left him behind, again.

"Derek!" he bawled, throat raw and strained from exhaustion. That, and worry. He was stupid: forgetting Stiles wasn't like him and Derek, he was just a human. He had been running full pelt away from the danger – his friend couldn't keep up, and Scott had left him . . . to die. The Hellhound was more than capable of ripping the boy apart, and all alone he didn't stand a chance. Scott had left him. He had let him down. But he could not let him die.

"What is it?" Derek appeared breathless beside him.

"We ran too fast."

Realization dawned on the older man's face at the words, and he too craned his head around looking for a sign of the ones they'd left behind. He found nothing. "No . . ."

"We've got to go back."

"Let's go" Derek answered, getting ready to run again, and Scott was shocked at his willingness to go back into danger for Stiles. But then again, Derek had changed a lot since they first met.

"Divide and conquer?"

"I'll go left, you right. Shout if you find them" Derek agreed, and they ran off in search of someone human.

* * *

The first thing Stiles Stilinski thought when he woke up was 'its cold'.

Then, as he woke up fully and became more aware, a more serious and painful thing filtered into his thoughts, sleeps numbing hold withdrawing to sharp pain as he came to the conclusion that he was hurt. Badly, going by the agony in his head. He laid quite still, the initial waves of pain too much to withstand, and groaned.

"Ouch," he mumbled, and after the shock had subsided, he started to feel his other senses coming back into effect; cutting through the pain. It smelt like ash, and he could hear nothing. Useful.

Coming to his senses almost immediately, Stiles remembered where he was from the fog of his head: what he was doing – and what he was hunting. He had fallen and hurt himself, he remembered that. Stiles also remembered it had been while running from a Hellhound.

"Damn it," he tried to sit up; eyes snapping open in fear, and instantly regretted it. The pain in his head doubled at the movement, spiking so badly he thought he would pass out again, causing him to slump back against the rock he had crashed into. Leaning comfortably, he shifted until he was sitting upright, supported but straighter. It hurt, but had to be done, so he pushed on. Once he was sitting straight, he could see what was ahead of him, woozy thoughts spinning.

Looking out, the sight he had anticipated met him; just a few metres away, red eyes looking over him as if deciding what to tear first, the huge beast stood over his form. The Hellhound. But it had not attacked him when he was out, and Stiles couldn't help but wonder why. The way Steph had talked of the creatures, the horror surrounding them; he would have guessed its first instinct would be to kill. So why was he still alive?

The Hellhound was waiting in front of him, watching with a growl his pathetic progress to sit up; the groans of pain only signs of weakness. Stiles knew what he was – prey. When a predator hunts, it looks for weaknesses to exploit to take down the lesser animal: if he wanted to live, Stiles had to show he wasn't weak. To become the predator; a wolf, like his friends. Or at least be brave and act like one.

Forcing his head up, Stiles looked the monster dead in the eye, refusing to be submissive and drop his gaze. He'd seen it in nature documentaries before: all saying that if you were ever being attacked by a lion, the best thing to do was to look it in the eye and never back down. But the sight was a grim one; the beast's eyes were blood red and cold, his own terrified face reflected in them. Although Stiles was trying to make his face stony and dark, it was not working. He looked trapped. Which was exactly what the Hellhound wanted, growling as it took a few steps forwards, rank breath on his cheek. Repulsed at the smell, Stiles flinched away, and a laugh echoed through the clearing, followed by the words:

"This one's no good, we need the alpha. Kill him."

He didn't know the voice, but the intention of it was clear. His time was up. The Hellhound took a few steps back at the order, and although Stiles glanced behind it, he could see no sign of the speaker. It boomed around the crack, filling every crevice, but seemed to lack a corporal form – words from mid-air.

"Better that than smell your breath any longer" Stiles joked weakly in response, looking around for a person – if he could keep talking, which was what he was best at, maybe he could buy a little time.

"Funny boy – but that won't save you. We need someone of use."

The words hurt, and he winced. "Ouch. You know, if you're killing me anyway there's no need to kick me while I'm down."

"My apologies," the voice said, "I won't postpone to torment you any longer. Boy – attack"

"No, no , no-" Stiles backtracked, as there was a sound like a plane flying overhead and the presence of the voice was gone, leaving just the boy and the hound. The beast seemed pleased at the orders, toes crunching against the leaves as they tapped happily, growled grimace seeming more of a grin. It stood a few feet away now. In a second, it moved forward a pace, approaching menacingly. Every step forward was a death sentence. Stiles watched; head still agony and whirring madly, every inch of him in pain. Almost, he just wanted it all to end. This life, all the bad dreams, the freaking bad luck which only kept coming – it was too much.

But then a few thoughts flashed through his mind, as he thought he was about to die: hugging his father, laughing with Scott, the Pack alive in his memories and together. And that was enough.

"I won't die," he ordered himself, "come on, Stiles: fight back."

_Weapon_, he thought, _I need a weapon_. Looking round, the only things close enough for him to get to were small stones and twigs; nothing strong enough to save him. He needed something more – like the rocks up on the hill to his left. They'd do. But the Hellhound was too close - he would never make it. But he could try.

"Aggh" he cried in pain as he sprung unexpectedly to his feet, staggering backwards and towards the rock pile, but the Hellhound had too quick reflexes for him to match, starting at the sudden movement before leaping – right at him.

* * *

At Deaton's car, they unloaded a barely conscious Isaac into the backseat, draping him across the chairs in an attempt to make him comfortable. He didn't look it: chest falling heavily as he panted, delirious state not helping matters. As Allison laid down his head at one thing and made to leave, he caught her sleeve, hand tight against her wrist.

"You – promised – to - stay" he panted.

"I know" she said, "but I've got to help the others. I'll be right back."

"Help – the – others?" he asked, but then nodded, "good. Help Scott."

"I will."

"Then – come – back?"

"Yeah. We'll all be back sooner than you know" Allison said, and satisfied, Isaac let go of her wrist, nod becoming a slump as he passed out.

"Isaac?" she asked, shaking him, but he did not wake. "Isaac?!"

"We've got to get him out of here," Melissa McCall said, coming round to meet them, "You go help my son, we'll sort Isaac out."

"Hurry" Allison pleaded, and the doctors sped off in the car, leaving Allison and Mr. Argent in their dust. Lydia had gone with them, sitting in the backseat with Isaac and brushing lank hair from his face, which gleamed with sweat. Although she hated to leave them like that, Allison knew they would look after him; she had another job to do. Notching an arrow, she turned to her dad, who was loading his gun.

"Ready?"

"Yep," he replied grimly, "Let's just hope we're not too late."

And with that cheery thought, they set off.

* * *

"Stiles?" Scott yelled, jogging back through the trees in desperation, "Steph? Guys!"

The only sound in answer was the crunching of leaves and wind raging overhead. But he knew they had to be here somewhere, searching for him to – he couldn't even think on the other possibility. It was unthinkable.

"Stiles!" he yelled again, as a panic set into his bones, and he ran as fast as he could through the trees, screaming for his friend the entire time.

* * *

Up on the ridge, Allison and Mr. Argent scanned the expanse of trees below them, looking for figures underneath the green.

"Can you see them?" Allison asked, eyes strained against the darkness but finding nothing.

"Scott and Derek are right over there, but they're going fast" Chris Argent answered, pointing far to their left, exactly the opposite of where Allison was looking.

"How can they be so far?"

"I bet the others are asking that too," he answered, "I don't see the hunter – or Stiles."

"We should go down there, find them" Allison said, making to stride past him, but her dad caught her arm.

"No, Scott wants us up here for a reason. He'll find the others – it's Stiles we're talking about here, Scott would never let anything happen to him."

"This doesn't feel right."

"Neither does any of this, but we have a plan – Stick to it." Chris Argent turned his back on her, pulling a long barrelled sniper rifle from a bag he carried, starting to set up the equipment. She knew that one it was all in place, there wasn't a shot her dad couldn't make. The entire forest would be his shooting range. But until then, she thought as she notched an arrow, it was up to her.

As she was standing vigilant, something caught her eye to the right of where she tracked Scott and Derek's progress – another figure running, paler and slower. Stiles. She breathed a sigh of relief she didn't know she had been holding, but her face quickly changed from relief to horror – as Stiles tried to jump over a crack in the landscape, and fell crashing to the bottom.

"No!" she cried, running past her father and further along the ridge, desperate for a better view into the hole.

"Allison, wait! Where are you going?"

"Keep working!" she yelled back, knowing they'd need the rifle soon, "I've got to help Stiles!"

"Stiles? But I thought we couldn't find-" Chris Argent started, but his daughter was already gone.

* * *

Allison came to a stop a few hundred metres to the right, climbing up higher on the rough stones for a better view downwards over the area and perching on a huge boulder. From there, she could find the area where she'd saw Stiles running, right into the crack – and screamed in terror.

The Hellhound was just feet away from her friend, who looked injured and was leaning against the grey stone of the small valley, walls too high to climb in his condition and beaten – no way out. The beast was approaching, and Allison was sure as hell not going to watch it kill him.

Pulling back the string of her bow until it was tight, resistant against her grip; Allison felt the arrowhead press against her cheek and breathed. But she paused for a second. What if she hit him by accident? She couldn't have his death, as well as his pain, on her hands. She had a choice: believe or give in. In that moment, she did not feel powerful. And she realized that she did not want that anymore; she wanted to be happy and secure. Right now she'd settle for in control.

Aim steady, she put every emotion which had been fighting her for the past few days into the bow – the pain, the fury, the sympathy, the _guilt_ – and let the arrow fly.

* * *

Just as the Hellhound leapt, two arrows landed at its feet, halting its progress and making the beast flinch backwards, away from its victim. Stiles stared, awestruck, at the two dark arrows in the ground for a second, thinking _Allison_, before coming to his senses and scrambling for the rock again. Seizing the boulder this time, he lifted it just as the beast recovered and leapt again, twisting to bring the heavy rock down onto the Hellhound's head.

It connected, and the monster fell with a groan, falling to the floor and shedding black blood; it woozily stumbled a little, as the boy tried to scramble away up the hill. But now, all they were was even – Stiles was hurt too and could not make the climb, slipping back to the leaves and running down the crack instead, two hills taunting him from either side. The Hellhound gave chase.

Then he saw just what he needed, sprinting to the left and seizing the fallen tree branch he had spotted. Crouching with his new prize, he pulled at the dirt around him looking for stones. He found two decent sized ones, and saying a silent prayer, he tried striking them against one another.

"Please," he begged, using his makeshift flint one, twice, to no effect. No spark was created. Once more, he closed his eyes and clipped the two stones together. He opened his eyes, staring at the tree branch. Nothing. Then, like lightning striking twice, a spark lit up the end if the branch, tiny but kindling. Growing fast, the tree branch was engulfed by flames in seconds; turning suddenly with his new weapon, Stiles waited for the fire-fight. The beast wasn't far behind. He would not be afraid.

Stiles stood tall, flaming branch held high, and waited for death calmly.

"Come on!" Stiles roared, waving the stick about as the Hellhound came from around a bend, grisly smile meeting his own defiant one. "Come and get me."

It ran, covering the ground in a blink of an eye, but the boy was ready, swinging the branch in an arc as the monster reached him. The fire smashed against its face, and the creature repelled back, making sounds of pain – one eye was burnt; blind.

"Ha!" Stiles laughed, but his face fell as the creature made to attack him again. It ran at him, and this time he swung blindly, hitting it on the shoulder, the head, the paws – but the beast had a new conviction, getting past the flames in a few attempts, its huge paws finding his shoulders and sending Stiles flying. Landing on top of him, the only thing between him and the creatures' gnashing jaws was the branch, which he jammed between the jaws of the beast, clinging on tightly to keep the barrier up. He pushed up against it with all his strength, but Stiles could feel his arms buckling already, sure he wouldn't last long. But he held on.

His saviour came in the form of a wickedly curved knife and a new friend.

Someone jumped from the ridge overhead, landing on the back of the creature and plunging a knife into the back of its neck. As the creature reared back in pain, retreating, he saw it was Steph. The girl was clinging with her knees to the Hellhound's back, eyes blazing with fury while her hands gripped the knife. As he jumped back to get out of the way with open faced fear, she twisted the knife once, severing the Hellhounds spinal column. It dropped to the ground dead.

Once it was completely still, Steph yanked the knife roughly back, black blood staining the shorts and blazer she still wore rapidly, before wiping the blade on the creatures coarse fur before sliding off it's back. She landed on both feet and walked over to him, sheathing her knife in her belt, face full of concern.

"Hey, are you alright?" she asked, meeting him and reaching out to touch the gaping wound on his head, making him wince. "I'm sorry; let me help you with that."

Running back to the hill, she scaled the stone wall effortlessly, returning with her backpack a minute later. Pulling out some cotton and white liquid, she dabbed the medicine on his head. It hurt when it touched, but went numb almost immediately afterwards, and he sighed with relief.

Steph laughed at this reaction, "First battle scars. Not bad going there, really, you were doing alright."

"I'd be dead if it weren't for you."

"You'll know better soon. I've been drafted in to help teach you all to fight. That was good – you got a weapon; kept going when you were hurt – not bad at all."

At the praise, he smiled benignly as she put away the bottle and pulled out a bandage, ducking his head as he was a good foot taller than her so she could wrap it around his head. "Thanks."

"Hey, it was all you."

"Not just for that" he said, as she fastened the pin and looked up. Still covered in blood and alone, they looked around the valley apprehensively after a moment.

"It might be hard getting you up that" Steph commented, nodding to the walls of the hill. She could tell he wasn't good – he was blinking slowly, as if drunk, and had turned an odd colour from the blood loss.

"A literal uphill struggle" he commented.

"You ready?"

"As I'll ever be" Stiles said.

Allowing her to put his arm over her shoulder, taking on a lot of his weight, Stiles and Steph staggered towards the nearest slope. She supported him as best she could, but they were only human so it was slow progress. Halfway up the slope, a clattering of feet startled them, defence back up in seconds, but it was only Scott who popped up at the crest of the hill.

"You're okay!" he yelled, running over.

"Sort of" Steph answered, and Scott noticed the state Stiles was in and frowned.

Then his eyes travelled to the background, landing on the dead Hellhound. "Y-You killed it?"

"You're welcome."

Scott spoke flatly. "But you said that was the only chance to stop the nemeton."

"I said it _might_ work," she said, getting kind of annoyed and still holding up the injured boy as Scott stood in front of them, "I thought you'd prefer your best friend alive."

"I do, I do" Scott said, shaking his head and going to Stiles' other side to help hold him up, "I'm sorry. It's just – I'm scared of this."

"I know. Trust me, Scotty, I am too."

"I mean to ask – Scotty?"

"Learn to love it quickly, it's sticking around" she grinned, and he shook his head.

"What do we do now?"

"We find another way," Steph answered more confidentially than she felt, "normally; I don't stay in a place more than a month tops. But this is affecting this entire half of the country. I'll stay as long as it takes."

Scott knew, from what he knew about her, that was a big thing. Staying was a commitment. Saying nothing, Scott nodded. He had a feeling she was staying for more than the danger to the world - roots were permanent things. They made their way up the hill and through the reserve. The Hellhound was gone, but the threat was not; there was still a long way to go.

* * *

"So, Scott says your staying" Derek said, stopping Steph as she went to climb the spiral stairs to the room she had moved into, "should I start charging for rent?"

"You wouldn't get much" she answered, but smiled.

"What's the longest you've ever stayed in a town?"

"Since I became a hunter? Five weeks" she answered bluntly.

"That's not much time."

"I stay long enough to finish the case; then I go where the work is. No case, no reason to stay. That's the life."

"But what about friends? A home?"

"I got Don, he looks after us all," she said, but looked conflicted "It was my choice."

"Years ago. What about now?"

She shrugged, "truth is, if it wasn't for the rush from this I'd have died a long time ago. I need it. Hunting's like a drug: once you're in, it's for life."

"And a normal life? A family?" he asked, voice faltering before the last option. His own truth was that he craved a family the way most people craved love. It was something he'd never quite had since the fire. And having the girl in the house was almost like having a family again – he wanted her to stay. Beacon Hills could do with a protector, and he could do with someone to look after, it distracted from the rest.

"That's just . . . not me. I'm used to it just being me" she said, then looked him dead in the eye, "can I offer a piece of advice?"

"Of course."

"Don't get too attached" she said, and Derek could hear the pain evident in her voice as his face froze, "that's the one rule I follow. If you get close to people, it only hurts more when they leave . . . or die."

Flashes of his family, Erica and Boyd crossed the werewolf's mind, and he turned his head down, the truth ringing from the words. He nodded wordlessly, only looking up at the last minute as the girl made to leave again. She looked ashamed of herself.

Steph was glad when she turned her back on the other man, who had sadly looked down. He was offering her what she missed the most – a family. She would love to turn back and say she'd stay. But her rule was golden, and absolute. She couldn't lose it all again.

"That demon" Derek spoke once more, and she halted on the step, back still on him. "It called you something today. – 'Samsa'?"

"It did," she nodded.

"Why?"

Now, she plastered a trademark smirk on her face and spun around laughing gently. "Did you really think my name was Stephanie Hannox? Please – I pulled that out of a book."

"W-what? So your name's 'Samsa'?"

Steph laughed a lot, "No! 'Samsa' as a first name? – No parent hates their child that much!"

"Then what _is_ your name?" he asked, a curiosity nudging at his brain, he leant against the window and waited for an answer, but Steph just crossed her arms stubbornly.

"I can't tell you that – I'd lose my air of mystery."

And with that, she really did march up the stairs that time, disappearing from view. Derek's face froze in a laugh, and from upstairs he heard:

"Goodnight, Derek!"

"Night" he called back, standing up now. He wasn't sure how to feel, torn between laughter from having a friend and rejection. Derek tried to speak once, but shook his head, turning and walking away in the opposite direction.

* * *

**A/N: **_so the Hellhound got it, but the threat is definitely not over in Beacon Hills. The nightmare is only going to get worse for our heroes, and the nemeton is still drawing monsters to the town - so there is a lot lot lot more to come. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter and this first battle, the developing of my favourite relationships to write: the Steph/Derek family sort of life, and Allison looking out for Stiles, which I felt was a friendship the show should 100% give more time to. LOOK THIS CHAPTER IS ON TIME! this is the last chapter before the 3b premier so, good luck folks. See you on the other side - Meg._


	10. 2am

**A/N: **_I am back at college now, so updates may well be a little slower. Plus, they definitely won't be on wednesday's anymore, as we have twilight sessions on that day until 5:30, so I'm not home until 8, leaving no time for updates. Sorry about that. But hopefully, since I'm 5ish chapters ahead in writing, I can still update sometime in the week._

* * *

'2am'

The best conversations happen at 2am. Anybody awake at that hour is either drunk or sleepless, and both conditions lead to an abundance of honesty and humanity. It was in the early hours, when starlight lit half-truths and before the sun came up, when things were said that wouldn't be uttered aloud at any other time of the day. The dark had a habit of exposing people. 2am onwards were the golden hours for friends and lovers to know each other, and for things to be thrown up in the air, waiting to land. The chance was enough. 2am was the time to go for a walk in the cold air, alone and sneaking out - which was exactly what Stephanie Hannox was doing on her second Saturday in Beacon Hills, almost two weeks into her stay there.

She bumped into Stiles Stilinski at 2:04.

* * *

Isaac woke up when his phone beeped from where it lay on the floor next to his mattress. It was a tiny sound, but to his superior hearing, it was like a fire alarm going off right next to his head. Fumbling a few times in the semi-darkness, he grabbed the offending object and pressed the keypad to open the message, the glare of the screen making him wince. It was from Allison.

_Are you awake? If you can, call me soon – A x_

He stared at the words, brain re-arranging the letters into sense, then immediately scrambled to his feet and headed to the window, grabbing a jacket as he passed. In the bed across the room, a mop of dark hair spilling across the pillow told him Scott was still sleeping soundly. Seriously, an elephant could crash into the house and it still wouldn't wake him.

Jumping onto the sill, Isaac lowered himself down the side of the house until his feet hit the icy pavement. It was the dead of night, and 'chilly' was an understatement. Swearing colourfully, he hopped around, trying not to let his feet rest, until they warmed up from the movement. Standing on his drive, clouds for breaths, he shoved on the jacket and made a phone call.

Allison answered almost instantly, "Isaac?"

"Who else did you message at 2am?" he grumbled.

"I'm sorry" she started, but he cut in.

"I know you wouldn't have unless it was important, Al."

"I didn't expect you to call so quickly," she said, but he could hear the quake in her tone, "I shouldn't have text you, it was stupid-"

"What happened?" he asked, cutting in firmly, the words demanding answers.

"I had a nightmare"

"I'll be right there."

"What?" Allison backtracked, guilt and worry climbing into her voice that could be heard even over the crappy connection, and all that did was increase his determination to be there. They had grown closer over the past few weeks; he would be there for her when she needed him. And right then, at 2am, she did. He wouldn't fail her like he failed everyone else. "You don't have to come!"

"I'm coming, it's decided," he replied strongly, already pacing down the drive and down the street towards her house. "Give me five minutes."

"But Isaac-" Allison started desperately, but then seemed to think better of it, speaking quietly, "thank you."

He hung up, and without the restrictions of prying eyes at the early hour, ran at his full speed through the deserted streets, pacing silent cars and endless dark houses. The running took away from the cold, and he wasn't even tired anymore; he had a reason. Isaac kept running.

* * *

Steph had been walking in no particular direction with no intended destination, not familiar enough with the town yet and content in only wandering, when across the street she saw a boy sitting on a kerb. His dark head was turned down, into the gutter, and he stared at nothing, looking lost.

She sighed, looking over at his huddled form. He hadn't noticed her yet; she could walk away now, and Stiles would never know. But she was better than that.

"Couldn't sleep either?" she asked casually.

When she sat down next to him on the kerb, Stiles jumped wildly before calming down, looking over to his new companion. She was watching the road in front of them, knees tucked into her chest and arms looped around them. Her fresh looking jeans and baggy purple t-shirt were too clean for this to be a random wandering; his own clothes were old and rumpled - what he had tried to sleep in before coming out. There was no preparation, so he hadn't thought to change, thinking he wouldn't see anyone he knew to be embarrassed of the black Ghostbusters shirt from his childhood.

"Whoa – you scared me."

"It's an occupational hazard."

He laughed, "Yeah, I just – er, couldn't sleep tonight."

"Does that happen a lot?"

"It's nothing I'm not used to," he said, making it clear he didn't wish to discuss it further, "What about you? It's a little late for a stroll, don't you think?"

"I don't know, I heard the late night tour of Beacon Hills is meant to be fantastic – extraordinary wildlife has been seen in these parts" she joked, putting on a phoney accent of tourist joy and looking up towards the stars. Then she sobered as he laughed again, looking sympathetically back at him. "Nightmares get better, you know. It just takes time."

"Is that why you're here tonight?"

"I've got a lot of nightmares to choose from," she admitted ruefully. "Doesn't mean I'm wrong."

"Maybe" he shrugged. Stiles wished a few things: that he could get a decent night's sleep before he collapsed, that they could finish off the nemeton quickly – that he'd brought a coat. He shivered, and the girl beside him smiled, getting to her feet.

"Come on," she said, offering him a hand up.

"Where?"

"Anywhere. All sitting there is going to do is make you stiff and your limbs ache – at least walking you'll be warm" she stated, and he took the hand. Starting at a slow, aimless pace, they began to walk down the street in front of them. It was well-lit and safe.

"Why are you doing this?" Stiles asked suddenly, as they walked. "I know why you stayed – but why are you being so nice to us? You could have left me back there, done anything you wanted, but you came over – why?"

"Because you looked sad."

Stiles huffed, "That's not an answer!"

His expression only made her laugh, so she went on. "You were all alone, and its night, and you looked so sad – who would walk on by? Those are the people I dislike the most, the ones who witness crimes and carry on, the people who think 'it's not my problem' as an excuse for being removed, for being heartless! Stiles, you and your friends have been suffering through a lot. And I know that's not easy – so at least this is one night you won't suffer alone."

He looked genuinely touched, but didn't know how to respond. "Wow – that's – that's noble. I mean, uh, well thanks, I guess."

"You are more than welcome," she said. "Plus, ulterior motive – now I won't have to walk alone either, or get hopelessly lost."

Stiles grinned, "I should have known."

"Eh, shut up. You believe my 'noble' motives because you still see the best in people. Cherish that."

"I, er - I will?"

"Good. Do you know if there's a park nearby?" The second question was so out of the blue, so it took Stiles a moment of stunned silence to respond.

"Um yeah, there's the Jefferson memorial park like five minutes away."

"Do you know the way?"

"I have lived here all my life" he pointed out.

"Nice to know!" she responded, "Let's go to the park."

"Why?"

Steph, swinging her arms, asked with an evil grin, "Does there have to be a reason?"

"To go to a park at 2 in the morning?" he asked sceptically, then his resolve failed and he almost grinned like her, answering, "Of course not. Keep up."

And just like that, they were practically running like a pair of six year olds to the park, hyped despite the early hour and laughing. Neither had slept yet, or was likely to – but at least they had good company.

* * *

When he got closer, Isaac could see that Allison had turned on a lamp in her room to help him, a beacon to guide him in. Climbing up with a half smile, he appeared at her window and knocked once gently to be let in. She rushed to the window, and let him in, retreating and holding her arms protectively across her chest. He stood and looked at her a moment, so isolated and desperate.

"Hey," he said, going over and uncrossing her arms before pulling her into his chest, "its okay."

Allison accepted the hug, ducking her head to rest just on his collarbone. He could feel her chest slightly fluttering, but whether it was from tears or panicked breathing Isaac did not know. It took a little while, but she calmed, her clutch on him seeming less desperate until she finally let go. She took a step back and looked up at him.

"Ready to talk?" Isaac asked, not pushing but asking.

"Yeah" she breathed tearfully, and before he even had the chance to think, she had sat down in the middle of the floor, against her bed.

Mirroring her actions, Isaac hesitantly crouched on the carpet, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall. "It seems like the obvious question – what was the nightmare about?"

"My mom" Allison's voice cracked. At this, Isaac looked up but said nothing, waiting for her to go on. Really, when it comes to having a messed up relationship with your parents, he was the poster child – but somehow he still didn't know what to say. She went on.

"It was strange . . . with Stiles, it was memories he saw in these nightmares, but it wasn't like that for me. I saw my mom's death – or at least what I imagined it to be – but that's not one of my memories . . . I wasn't there."

"Trust me," Isaac said, thinking of his own father's death, "You'll be thankful you never saw it, one day. You never forget."

"But I should have been there," Allison said passionately, "I should have been with her."

"You don't owe her anything."

"She was my mom!"

"Who, from what I've heard, put you through so much emotional and psychological pressure and strain from your family business that you almost killed your friends; and that you almost lost yourself, Allison. You're the one who _saves_ people." He told her, leaning forwards, saying something he spent years trying to teach himself, "Just because she's your parent doesn't mean she was right, or that you owe her anything."

Allison had fallen silent for a moment, looking down numbly. "But I loved her."

"I never said you didn't, or that you shouldn't. Hell, I still loved my dad even after all he'd done to me" Isaac was speaking bitterly now, snarl lighting up his face as if he felt genuine shame in the confession, "because I guess 'unconditional love' means just that. But these nightmares – don't let them break you. Sometimes you have to know when to let go."

"What if I can't let go?"

"It's not supposed to be easy: that's kinda the whole point."

"Do you really think we can reverse all this?" Allison asked, and there was a hopeful vulnerability about her all of a sudden. Hands curling subconsciously around the edges of her shirt, like a child, she seemed smaller.

"I hope so," Isaac replied, "if we don't . . ."

A frank interruption, "We're screwed."

"That's a vivid way of putting it, but yeah" Isaac agreed.

"Here's to being messed up" Allison said lightly, lifting the glass of water she'd got herself to Isaac, who silently laughed, shoulders shaking.

"And a happy new year" he added.

She laughed, but after a minute her face fell again to worry, and the werewolf couldn't take it any longer, quietly crawling over to sit beside her, his back against the bed now. He put his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned onto it, small again in the embrace.

"Go back to sleep," he advised, stretching his legs out in front of him, "I'll watch over you."

Allison's breathing became steady in his own quickly, whispering that's and hidden worries under she was pulled under, and was fast asleep in his arms within the hour.

* * *

They weren't far from the park, when from across the road, a blonde ghost drifted into view, pink nightgown wrapped up in a floaty white dressing gown – Lydia Martin. It appeared that no one was sleeping that night. She was walking with more direction than them, in the dead of night, and when he saw her, Stiles dropped dead. After a moment, he started guiltily at Steph.

"Maybe we should-" he started cautiously.

"You like her, don't you?" Steph asked, a knowing smile lighting up her face.

He nodded, "yeah. I really do – always have."

"You ever told her?"

"Only at every available opportunity since I was ten."

She rolled her eyes, "that was a boy-like crush. I mean, have you told her how you really feel since all this started?"

"She knows" Stiles said, but was starting to doubt that, especially when next to him, Steph laughed heartily.

"You know, contrary to social gender stereotypes: women are not mind readers."

"I- I er -" Stiles stammered.

"Stop that," Steph ordered, and his lips snapped shut instantly, "listen, boyhood crushes are usually just that and nothing comes of them. I don't know what it was like back then but let me guess – she ignored you? Didn't know you existed?"

"This conversation is doing wonders for my ego."

"But I've seen you together now – if only for a little while, and it's clear that she trusts you. When we were training last week," Stiles, Allison and Lydia had taken part in three 'training sessions' by now, gaining confidence in lore and even showing some skill in weaponry, "and we were shooting at that target – she stood right in front of it when you took that shot – didn't even pause for a second. That sort of trust isn't nothing."

It was true. In fairness, the gun wasn't loaded and nothing happened when Stiles pulled the trigger, but Steph hadn't told them that at the time. Called it a 'team bonding exercise'.

"That was just because you told her to!" Stiles argued.

Steph sighed dramatically. "She listens to you – so you need to show her that you've changed and matured, and that these feelings are real and adult now. You have to tell her." She finished with a grin, placing a hand on each of his shoulders. "Understand?"

He nodded dumbly in her face.

"Are you ready for this?"

He nodded again, like a football player in a huddle; none of it seemed real.

"Are you going to go and talk to her like a human being now, and walk her home?"

A final nod.

"Then go get her" Steph said, spinning him round by his shoulders so he stood in front of her, before leaning on her tip toes to whisper in his ear, "good luck."

She gave him a firm shove and he stumbled away, in the direction that the blonde had travelled in moments ago; they could still she her figure disappearing in the distance. He kept walking after her, gaining pace until he was running down the street. Steph managed to hold back a laugh at the lovesick puppy until she heard a faint shout of: "Lydia! Hey, Lydia!"

At this, Steph really cracked up, smothering her laughs with her hand and doubling over. When they were completely gone from view, and since she thought they were safe enough to leave alone now the Hellhound was gone, she stood up and looked around, unsure what to do. It was strange, but she felt almost disappointed. It had been nice, having someone to walk and talk with. She was used to doing it alone.

Plus, she was really looking forward to going to the playground. Smiling almost ruefully, she stood for a moment longer under the yellow glow of the streetlamp before starting to walk away. A voice spoke from behind her, the figure stepping from the shadows into the streetlight's glare.

"That was a kind thing to do."

It was Scott's voice, and the girl felt her mouth twist into an unbelieving smile, not turning until she'd forced it from her face.

"That was an easy thing to do, and so is stalking, apparently," she accused, raising an eyebrow.

Scott held up his hands, "not stalking. I went for a run in the woods because I couldn't sleep and Isaac woke me up when he left. I was just on my way home when I heard you guys talking . . . from about a mile away."

"And you just made the minor detour to comment on my kindness?"

"I guess I'm kind too" Scott beamed, and she shook her head, grinning. "Why were you all out?"

"Tonight is the time for the sleepless."

"Poetic." He said before frowning, "You don't think this could have anything to do with . . ."

"No," she said assuredly, but then deflated a little, "it's just people."

The alpha nodded, "when did you guys become such great buddies?"

"When did you get so interested?"

"When did this conversation become a series of questions?" Scott said with a smirk, and she tried not to laugh, "Were you heading anywhere special?"

Steph smiled, walking back over to him so they both stood under the soft light, "depends – do you know the rest of the way to the playground?"

* * *

It was 2:22.

The swings in the park were rattling, swinging backwards and forwards more violently than they had in a long time, and straining under the weight of two teenagers instead of children.

"I'm going higher!" Scott shouted from the left swing, causing outrage from the right.

"You are _so_ not!" Steph shouted back.

"Am too!"

"Not a chance!" the girl declared, swinging her legs back and forth strongly to spur on the action. In fairness, Scott probably was going a little higher than her, his longer legs providing an advantage, but she wasn't one to back down. So she had another idea. "I dare you to jump off."

"No!"

"Do it, do it, do it!" she chanted, and he was laughing so hard he almost lost the momentum he'd gathered, almost slipping from the seat. He cried out in shock, gripping the chains of the swing even more tightly and shaking his head in answer. "Are you seriously telling me that the big bad alpha is afraid to jump of the swing?"

"I'm not scared, I'm just not crazy."

"Crazy? What, 'cause jumping four feet is totally insane?" she teased and he decided. Shaking his head, he mustered up some extra momentum to the movement of the swing, going once, twice, three times before leaping from it, flying through the air.

"Ahh Fuuu-" he cried midair, arms and legs played and any awesome werewolf senses failing him, and he crashed to the ground and rolled to a halt on the grass. After a moments shocked, he started laughing.

A thud next to him caught his attention, and Steph, who had jumped off the swing too, landed gracefully beside him, knees bending on impact before standing completely unfazed, not even unbalanced, and looking down at him with a grin. "Wow. You seriously suck at that."

"Shut up," he complained, rolling onto his back so he could look up easily, "I gave in to peer pressure from you and therefore hold none of the responsibility."

"Aw, shall I call the guidance counsellor and make you an appointment? Then you can tell them all about how the big mean girl at the playground is bullying you."

Annoyed but grinning, Scott made to trip her up by swinging his leg towards her, but she was only caught slightly by the movement, leg flying up but instead of falling, she used the movement to carry her in a half flip, landing again.

"Really, McCall? You'll have to do better than that to catch a hunter off their guard."

Turning haughtily, she walked off, leaving him lying in the grass. Scott banged his head once against the ground, slumping in exhaustion by this point before getting determinedly to his feet and following her. Steph was now sat on the red roundabout. When he got there, Scott put on foot on the roundabout and used the other to keep it lazily spinning.

"So, where was Isaac going?" Steph asked, confusing him, as most things seemed to do.

"What?"

"Earlier, you said he woke you up when he left – but where was he going at this time of night?"

"Probably Allison's" Scott said, but there was no tone of resentment in his voice, which only piqued the girl's interest.

"A competitor for Allison's heart?"

"The successor," Scott said frankly, and looked grim for a second, but his acceptance was graceful, "I knew they'd been getting closer, and honestly – I think I lost her a long time ago. I mean, her mom tried to kill me and then she died, and things just went downhill a little. I didn't tell Allison about it afterwards, and I probably shouldn't have lied."

Steph's eyebrows hit the roof at this, but she replied casually, "I can see how attempted murder can put a dampener on a relationship – we've all been there. But why did you lie?"

"I didn't want her to know her mom's last act was a bad one."

The hunter let go of a breath at this, one half of her mouth flicking up, disbelieving of the pressure Scott was putting on himself, and the unnecessary blame. "You think she'd hate you for that? What you did wasn't a bad thing, Scott, it was incredibly good. Not many people would do that."

He shrugged, "It isn't just that - she doesn't trust me anymore and there's no way we can work. I moved on . . . and so has she."

"I bet that conversation with Isaac was awkward."

"It hasn't happened yet," the alpha admitted, "I might have been putting off having to ask him about it by pretending to be asleep when he goes out."

Steph laughed. "Smooth."

"I think they'll leave when we graduate, depending on if we survive that long-"

"-Ever optimistic-"

"-I just hope that they can be happy, after all of this" Scott said, and he was sincere. If his pack could one day move on from this hell and be happy, he would consider it all a success. Himself he wasn't so worried about – but he thought he might stay. Somehow, leaving Beacon Hills felt like abandoning this life, leaving the wolf behind – and he could never do that. Even now he was terrified of going back to who he was before.

"You are something else, Scotty McCall" Steph said, staring at him as he spoke with a trace of a slow smile forming of her face. Her purple shirt matched the night sky, but his own red one stuck out like a sore thumb, the wolf in sheep's clothing. "Let's put those werewolf skills to the test," she proposed, fixing him with a mischievous grin, "how fast do you think this thing can go?"

But when he looked up at the words she had already reclined in her seat and stuck her legs out, eyes filled with starlight.

Matching her grin, he kept a grip onto one of the bars, putting both feet on the floor, and started to run.

* * *

"Hey" Stiles caught up to the girl, who stared at him confusedly but not totally hostile as he stopped, breathless, in front of her. When she didn't say anything, he looked around the deserted street. "So, do you come here often?"

"Shut up, Stiles."

"Got it. Why are you out so late?" he asked.

Lydia shrugged, pulling on the dressing gown she wore like a safety blanket, "It's nothing, just a little insomnia. It's not uncommon in people our age."

"And that's all it is? A little sleep loss?" Stiles asked spectrally, crossing his arms, and the girl huffed and started walking again, she he had to keep pace, "'Cause I know a bit about it, and it really seems to be on the rise in this town."

"What are you doing here?" she asked defensively in return, and it was his turn to be evasive.

"Bad dreams. Will you let me walk you home?"

"I'm not going home."

"Then where are you going?"

"I don't know!" Lydia shouted, and it was only then that he noticed how tearful she had gotten, her fingers trembling and eyes wet. "I don't know, okay? Everything has been so messed up recently and I only found out there were freaking werewolves in town a few months ago and now I'm a banshee -whatever that means - and I'm scared to sleep in case I see more people dying!"

The girl said all of this in about a single breath, the words held back for weeks coming out in a floor, fists clenched and jaw locked. Stiles watched on in open-mouthed shock, face finally twisting and settling on sympathy when she was done.

"I'm sorry," he said simply, "I know it's a crappy situation but really, you've handled it beautifully."

"Can you not hit on me for five minutes?" Lydia snapped.

"No, no, I wasn't-" Stiles said, holding his hands open in peace, "I just meant, when Scott found out, he almost killed me and everyone else in school. When Jackson did, he had some sort of weird power trip and extorted information from us. But you – you," he looked at her, "You managed to find out about all of this, help us kick the Darach's ass, and maintain your grades and popularity. That's amazing, Lyd – you're amazing. And I'm sorry you feel so bad about it."

During this, the girls face had changed from stony to thoughtful, but she spoke clearly. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you. You didn't deserve it."

"It's okay," Stiles said, following the advice of the hunter and praying she was right, "it just makes up for all the times I _have _done that. And that was wrong, can I just say. Yeah, I had a crush on you but that didn't mean you owed me anything or I should annoy you with it, and _I'm_ sorry I acted like that to such a . . . great person."

"You were always sweet," Lydia said quietly in response, then held out an arm, adding curtly, "I'm not going to get home by myself."

Proudly, he stepped forward and took the offered arm, throwing in a little bow for effect, and walked her all the way home, feeling like for once he had won.

* * *

Scott was screaming. It turns out using werewolf speed to start a roundabout was the equivalent of getting spun in the washing machine. An incoherent stream of cursing and gibberish spilled from his lips as he clung to the blue bar, pulling it close to his chest until he could collapse into the chair in the centre, back to back with Steph, and let gravity do the rest. Once he has no longer fighting it, the experience wasn't so bad. If he could ignore the nausea.

"Oh god, this is not going to end well" he said, gripping onto the chair arms as the playground equipment spun at about fifty or sixty miles an hour, sucking all the air from his lungs and keeping him glued to the seat. He would be surprised if it didn't break and they went flying off soon. This was definitely not safe, yet he could hear Steph cackling the other side of the roundabout, cheering and laughing. That made it kind of okay.

Everything was a blur, the greens and grey of the park and city mixed with the blue of the roundabout, spinning him endlessly. Honestly, all the motion was starting to make him feel sick, so he clenched his eyes shut and pretended he was somewhere else. That just made it worse – the movement seemed amplified behind closed eyes; more violent. Just as he was contemplating how badly he would get injured if he tried to jump off now, a voice spoke from everywhere at once with the movement, filling all the space although he knew it came from the girl sitting behind him.

"Look up."

"I'm not doing a thing until we get off this death-trap!" he shouted back, and heard a laugh.

"Trust me. Look up."

Following a feeling in his gut, Scott did as he was asked – and gasped.

Overhead, with the momentum of the roundabout, the sky was alive, all the blues and purples and blacks blending into one another; and then there were the stars. Thousand of them blurred together, making lines which created a kaleidoscope directly upwards into space. It was like he was really there, and the stars were just a fingertip away, so beautiful and bright, a tunnel to somewhere else.

"Beam me up, Scotty" Steph said softly, as enchanted by the sight as him.

In this notion, Scott lifted a hand straight up into the air, suspended by the air cushioning around it. He expected to bring back a handful of stardust. "It looks like that painting, _Starry Night_" he said.

"I never thought of that" Steph admitted, biting her lip and smiling, although he did not see this. She scrutinised the stars with new conviction now. "I never knew you were such an art expert."

"I just remember that one from like 3rd grade – it was by the guy with one ear, right?"

_Van Gogh, dumbass, _Steph bit back, contenting herself to grin and repeat, "Yeah, it was the guy with one ear."

"Do you think this was how he saw the world?" Scott asked, in a very insightful and un-Scott-like comment, letting his hand fall back down to his side.

"Maybe," the hunter said, "maybe we all see it differently. Why – do you think he had a bit of the wolf in him?" she grinned.

"He'd have to. Either that or he was on some hard drugs."

They both laughed, the motion growing slower with every passing minute. Scott waited in silence for a few of them, the smile on his face fading the more they stopped. He could make out the blurs now, the town coming back into view. Tilting his head to the side to ask, Scott said.

"Steph?"

"Hmnnnn?"

"What's your real name?" Scott asked, "Derek told me 'Stephanie Hannox' was a lie."

She sighed, explaining. "An alias isn't a lie. The old me was officially declared dead, so I _needed_ a new name. It wasn't my choice." Her voice softened, "I never wanted to change at all."

"But still – what was it?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Please," Scott tried playfully, changing tactics. Games were easy; fun was easy, with Steph. She was so kind and normal it was hard to imagine her as this dangerous person everyone was worried she could be. "Just give me the first letter"

A hesitant pause. "Just the first letter?"

"-And then you have to tell me if I guess it right."

"That wasn't in the rules!""

"Please. Just let someone in" Scott said gently, "try me."

She had been there for two weeks, and no one knew who she was, not really. They knew she laughed easily, and could fight better than the rest of them, and knew ten thousand facts about creatures they had never even heard of – but nothing about her. Not as a person. Sometimes it was dangled in their faces, so close but ungraspable in half-finished sentences and little comments about her past.

Steph thought about it for a moment, face screwed up and arms closing over her chest, a barrier between herself and everyone else. Since it had happened, almost four years ago, she hadn't told anyone her name. She had just become Steph. There was no need for who she used to be – that girl was dead.

After a long hesitation, during which the roundabout almost came to a halt, she said, "A."

"A?" Scott confirmed, and felt Steph nod behind him. "Amy? Abby? Alice?" he guessed, hearing laughter from behind him and guessing they were all incorrect, so he concentrated and tried again. "Ada? Um, Adele? Adelaide?"

"Sounds like someone's getting desperate" Steph said behind him, but there was an air of tension about her now. "Just give up and save us both some time."

"No, no, I'm going to get it!" he protested, "Alisha? Alana? Amanda? April?"

"Not even close."

"Aria? Andrea? Anna?" At the final name he listed, Scott felt the body behind him stiffen, so jumped onto the lead immediately, turning around in his seat to face now they were going slowly. "Anna? It's Anna isn't it? – I'm right!"

From the look on her face, he was, and she grumbled "shout it, why don't you?"

"I'm sorry," Scott said more quietly, leaning in to whisper as she turned around too, looking down at the dirty blue floor of the roundabout to avoid his eyes. He spoke excitedly, "Your real name is Anna?"

Steph nodded, still looking down. "I'd appreciate it if you kept it to yourself."

"Hey," he said kindly, "your secret's safe with me. Anna's a nice name."

"Thanks. For keeping the secret, I mean."

"You're welcome," he said, then grinned widely, sticking out a hand in between them, "Hello Anna. My names Scott McCall, it's nice to meet you."

She laughed quietly, shoulders shaking but still looking nervous, but she took the hand a shook it. "Hi Scott, I'm Anna. Anna Samsa."

And for a moment, Scott thought he finally knew the girl with sad eyes and a kind smile, who laughed easily with a heart of fire, but wore the marks of a hard life on her sleeves, and had starlight in her soul.

* * *

The pair was on their way back through the town, having left the pure joy of the playground behind them when a car pulled up alongside and a gruff voice said, "Get in."

It was Derek, his face irritated at first but after watching their tired progress for a few minutes as he followed behind, all of his anger at finding Steph had snuck out had faded. Sympathy on his face, he unlocked the doors for them to get in and told them, "I'm giving you both a lift home."

"I'm not too sure I feel like going back right now" Steph said, and he noticed she looked shaken.

"Don't be dumb, it's the middle of the night – where are you going to go?"

"I um, I-" she paused, before a wave of clarity cleared her face, "I want to go get some food."

"After all the spinning?" Scott asked incredulously, and of course Derek had no idea what the hell he was on about. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Steph nodded confidently, turning to the driver, "do you know any good late-night places?"

"I know a few" Derek admitted, trying not to smile, "get in."

This time, the alpha and hunter piled into the back of the car, Scott noisily complaining and calling Steph insane for eating after the 'roundabout incident' which Derek didn't even care to ask about, rolling his eyes as they argued and joked around. Eventually, they pulled into a small, mostly empty diner just outside of town, a long way from their houses. Only two more cars were in the parking lot, and a few truckers sat inside.

They sat in a little booth by the window, on two couch-like red benches with a white table coming out of the wall in between. Derek and Steph sat on once bench and Scott on the other, facing them.

"So, what's good?" Steph asked, thoughtfully glancing over the menu before twirling it in her fingers, looking at Derek expectantly.

"Whenever I used to come here, I'd get the special burger. Those were some late night adventures, too" he admitted, laughing a little at the memory. "Laura brought me here once in the middle of the night when I was upset, and then later, Cora used to have horrible dreams of when her and Boyd were held by the alphas. I used to bring her up here a lot, but it's been a while."

"Three special burgers and fries it is, then" Steph announced, waving over the server. Within minutes, three burgers bigger than their heads had arrived, alongside stacks of fries and assorted dips, and Steph laughed loudly.

"Well, I didn't expect that" she said.

"Not up to the challenge?" Derek asked mockingly, taking a huge bite out of his own burger.

"Are you kidding me? I was thinking of ordering extras!" Steph, or as he now knew, 'Anna' joked back, stealing a fry off his plate and dunking it into his ketchup, which only spanned an argument; Scott watched them, amazed at how much of a family they looked like, and smiled to himself.

It was 2:56am, and they were eating dinner while an old Elvis song played in the background at an all night diner on the edge of town.

* * *

**A/N:** _The song playing in the background at the end is 'Teddy Bear'. Just a fun trivia fact there. This was by far my favourite chapter to write so far, which made it all so easy; writing these friendships and interactions was amazing. I like this one a lot, okay. I can finally say I'm proud of my work, which for an uneasy person who constantly worries about being shit at everything, is a lot. So, yeah. I loved this, and writing it, and the words and moments. I hope you did too. - Meg._


	11. The Brave die young

**A/N: **_hey hey I am so sorry this ones taken so long to get up, it's not that it's the writing itself (I'm 4 chapters ahead) but with college giving me 2 new coursework assignments I've been too busy to get it edited and sort it out to out up. I will try to do better in the future. Today's title is lyrics from 'fresh start fever'. Absolute tune._

* * *

'The brave die young'

"Protection symbols," Steph announced to the assorted teenagers gathered at the old hale house the day after their late-night adventures, all eyes tired and bleary. The words caused a collective sigh.

"More lore?" Stiles asked exasperatedly, "when are we going to do some more weapons work? We haven't even fired anything for real yet, apart from the trick gun last week!"

"I'm the teacher - so shut up" Steph replied.

"Well, consider this an official complaint."

"Consider it noted and rejected."

Lydia elbowed Stiles in the ribs at this point, his challenging face knocked off by the act as he held his tongue with a scowl. "Nobody would trust you with a gun anyway, idiot" the blonde said. As his jaw dropped again, the girl nodded at their 'teacher', who smiled sweetly and continued.

"Protection is as important, if not more, than fighting back. If you can stop it and protect yourselves before anything even happens, then you might just save a life. So, stop pulling faces and come watch this!" Steph grinned, and they all sat on the porch steps of the shack. "So this-" she pulled a pocket knife and started carving into the wood a sign, "is an old wiccan sign to protect the home. I would give you stronger wards against all of the supernatural, but I have a feeling most of you will be having werewolves over at some point. This is a protection line against anything demonic."

They all looked curiously at the sign she'd carved, which appeared to be an upside down 'J' with two sweeping lines connecting and crossing over the centre of the sign, like an hourglass. As she carved the final piece, an eye shape at the top, the symbol on the wood glowed for a second.

"That was-" Allison started.

"Magic," Steph grinned back at all their shocked faces, knowing exactly how they felt, "I know. Well, technically it's a ward, not magic, so . . ."

"It's good enough. How did you learn all this?"

"Just picked it up over the years. It's useful occasionally. Anyway, class, I want you all to copy this down and mark it on your houses somewhere. This could save your families, so don't mess it up. I'll be coming round at some point during the week to see if you got it right." Steph said, getting back to her feet, "but I think that'll be enough for the day."

"You're giving us homework?" Stiles asked.

"Damn right I am. I like this power" the hunter smirked.

"But you still won't teach us how to use guns? Don't you think that might be an important aspect of protecting ourselves?" Stiles demanded, following her. Even the others seemed to agree with him when Steph turned around, so she quickly thought up an idea.

"Okay, I'll tell you what," she said, pulling her own gun, a heavy glock, out of the holster in her jeans and checking it was loaded, and Stiles looked hopeful but shocked, "if you can disarm me of this weapon, I'll teach you how to fire it."

"W-what?" Stiles asked; paling and taking a step back as Steph levelled the gun, which she had emptied without being noticed, at his face.

"For real. I think protection is better than assault, always have. But if you're right and learning to shoot is more important, I'll humour you – get this off me in any way you know how. If you were in this situation, would you rather you could get the gun off me, or you could fire it?"

"I'd rather know how to get the gun, obviously," Stiles relented, "but when I do have it, I need to know how to use it, too."

"Fair enough," Steph agreed. "But you need to know how to disarm first. So, if you can get this gun off me right now, I'll teach you how to shoot it." Then she grinned challengingly, still holding the gun in his direction as he took a few steps forwards again. Stiles looked uncertain, but wasn't ready to back down on what he said before. He did need to know how to use the gun. And he couldn't lose face in front of the others.

He stood facing her for a moment, staring down the barrel of the gun and trying to act like the idea didn't make him weak.

Then, Stiles made to hit Steph with one hand and take the gun with the other, but his (brilliant, in his own words) plan didn't go too well. The second his hand came forward, the girl sidestepped, twisting her shoulder so his fist sailed harmlessly past, using the unbalance of this motion to lean into his body at the mid-section. As Steph kicked one leg across both of his, Stiles went crashing to the dirt, but Steph lessened the fall, holding him up and placing him down, before standing back over him with the gun pointed at his face.

"Sloppy, Stiles" she grinned, "but I'll change the deal. Stay; and I'll teach you how to do that properly. Do it once by the end of the day, and next time we all meet I'll teach you how to shoot a gun."

Stiles looked up from his position in the dirt, glancing over to the other girls, who nodded encouragingly, then back towards the hunter.

"Deal."

* * *

Five hours later, and Stiles finally managed to pull off the manoeuvre Steph had spent the afternoon teaching him. As the hunter lay in the dust, staring back up as he stood with the gun she had originally been holding pointed at her, a shocked silence passed through the clearing they were practising in. The boy paused, head turning down to the gun in his hands, then back to the girl on the floor.

She was laughing. "Not bad for a day's work, Stilinski. Not bad at all."

"Count it down to natural talent" he joked back, extending a hand to help the hunter to her feet, overwhelmingly pleased at his accomplishment. He had done it, and it felt great.

Steph, however, scoffed at the comment, "count it down to good teaching."

"It did take you an entire day to teach me one," Stiles held up a finger, "little thing."

"Just proves how bad a student you are."

Clapping him on the shoulder, she strode across the clearing confidently, grin on her face, flushed with pride. It had taken hours, in the heated day, to teach Stiles the simple method to disarm an attacker – but in the end he had got it. That was the whole point.

"Come on!" she shouted over her shoulder, "I'll give you a ride home."

He caught up quickly as they walked back through the forest to the car. Allison and Lydia had somewhere to be hours ago and had left, so it was just the two of them in the forest now. He trudged beside her until they got to the car.

"Can I drive?" Stiles asked casually, stopping in front of the car. Everybody really did adore that car, even Derek, who had before been convinced that his own was the self-titled greatest. But they still had no idea what make or model it was, and finding out now would be kind of disillusioning. The mystery was part of the allure.

"You want to drive my car?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"I've seen how you drive the jeep."

"Aw, come on" Stiles pleased, standing in front of her and pouting, hands outstretched for the keys, "I promise I won't talk and keep my eyes on the road – and be safe!"

"Even I'm not safe with her," Steph admitted, scrutinising him carefully, "You crash my car and I'll rip your balls off."

Stiles made a little whimpering noise, jumping back and subconsciously moving his hand to protect the threatened area. He gulped, "Harsh – but alright."

A set of keys flew towards him and he caught them one-handed, grinning as he hopped into the car. Steph got into the passenger seat more hesitantly, looking uncomfortable at not being in control of the vehicle.

Stiles turned the key and laughed, "Oh, yes."

Sliding down in her seat, Steph closed her eyes and sighed, "oh no."

* * *

"How are you feeling this morning?" Isaac asked, sitting at some burnt-out diner Scott had been raving about all morning, when the wolves had been playing video games at the McCall's. The Alpha kept telling him to come and order the 'special' burger, so Isaac had taken the advice. Granted, Scott didn't know who'd he be using the advice with, but Isaac didn't dwell on the details.

"Better," Allison said, and offered no more on the matter, instead saying, "thank you for coming over."

"No problem. Are you sure you're alright? Maybe we should tell Deaton-"

"-No!" Allison shouted, but then leaned forward on the bench to hiss quietly, "nobody can know about this, alright? You can't tell anyone. Not even Scott."

"Why not? They could help you."

"Help me?" Allison laughed cruelly, "They can't even help themselves. Stiles and Scott on the verge of a breakdown is enough; the last thing anyone needs is me following behind."

"But what about _you_?" Isaac asked, "We're supposed to just leave you to suffer? How is that fair?"

"I never said it was 'fair': I said it was what I wanted to do. I'll look after myself."

"No, you won't," Isaac said earnestly, reaching across the table and placing his hand over hers, "I'll help you. Even if you refuse to let anyone else help, I will, I promise. You just have to promise to call or text me anytime you need me in return, and I won't say a word to the others."

Allison, whose food was barely touched, glanced uncertainly up and then back at her plate, as if it held the answers. After a minute, she fixed him with a hard gaze. "You swear not to tell anyone?"

"I swear," Isaac said, "do you promise to call me?"

"I promise."

"Good, that's settled then" Isaac smiled, taking a huge bite from the burger before making an approving noise, "man, Scott was right. These are awesome!"

As he tucked in to the generously sized burger, Allison laughed at his enthusiasm. Hiding a grin, she took a bite from her own.

* * *

"There's a reason you taught us protection symbols today, isn't there?" Stiles asked curiously as they pulled away from the reserve, studying his companion's face in the mirror. She instantly broke into a annoyed grin.

"Damn, you're good," Steph shook her head, impressed, "how'd you guess?"

"Gut instinct. So you might as well spill – what's going on?"

"I'm leaving town tonight."

"What?" Stiles exclaimed loudly, turning in his seat to face her, "for how long?"

"Eyes on the road! And just for tonight" Steph yelled back, and grumbling, he obeyed.

"When were you planning on telling us?"

"I wasn't" Steph snapped, "You all seem to have forgotten that I'm not your personal hunter. I got called in for a job just down in San Diego; I'll be back by morning and I think you can manage one night without me and not burn down the town."

Stiles thought about it for a minute, staring at the road bitterly. It was true that they all seemed to act as if she was going to be there forever. Steph had never made any such promise. So relenting and realizing she was right, Stiles instead asked, "will you be safe?"

In the mirror, the girl's face creased into an indistinguishable expression. "I'll be fine, it's just a wraith causing some trouble."

"Like those fugly dudes from Lord of the Rings?" he asked.

"Much worse," she said, "and to be honest, I could do with a break. It'll be good to be on the road and hunting again; feeling like I'm actually doing something."

"You _are_ doing something!"

"I've been here for two weeks, and still I haven't found a way to reverse the effects of the nemeton."

"But you'll get it eventually," Stiles said, "And it's not like you've been doing nothing – you saved me from that Hellhound."

"And I need to do something like that again," Steph said passionately, "I can't stand all this research! I need to get some air. I need to get out."

"But you'll come back?"

She promised, "I'll come back."

"And you're sure you will be safe?"

"I'm sure," she said, and sounded like him. "But just do me a favour – don't tell the others. It's bad enough you acting like Mother Hen and worrying without them all on my case."

"I am – I'm not acting like – oh, get killed, I don't care anymore" Stiles gabbled and grumbled all the way home, where he left and watched the car go until it was out of sight, unrest building in his chest. He was worried for the hunter. She was his friend, and in his experience, any encounter with a monster was not safe. And aside from that, he was pretty sure Beacon Hills was safer with her in it. What if something happened while she was gone?

Growing more and more concerned, Stiles headed into his house and to bed, determined to get some sleep in case it did all kick off tonight. He would be ready.

* * *

Scott was at home that Sunday afternoon, not up to much since Isaac had left. They had been playing video games, which were still paused on the television screen, and his laptop was playing music from where it rested on the small table in the centre of the rooms, its lid half shut down. His mom wouldn't be home until late, and Isaac had gone out – frankly, Scott was bored on his own.

Sitting with his feet on the table, he messily ate a snack he grabbed from the fridge, eating with his fingers as he wondered what to do. Then, as his gaze flicked over the laptop, an idea formed on his mind, and his eyes moved back to the machine.

But he pushed the idea away.

Scott knew it wasn't a good idea. It betrayed every piece of trust a friend had put in him, and made every confidence he had promised obsolete. He had always stood by that he could never hurt a friend, but was this really the same?

Once the idea had taken root, Scott found himself unable to concentrate on anything else, trying to distract himself by playing the game again: but his gaze kept coming back to the laptop. It glared accusingly back at him, as if aware of what he was thinking of doing and judging him for it. It was wrong, but Scott couldn't help himself.

He gave in after ten minutes, frustrated sitting forward to grab the machine, pulling it onto his lap before opening the lid. Scott paused for a second, but his mind was made up – he had to know. Maybe he could help if he did. With the best of intentions, the alpha pulled up Google and typed in the searchbar a name he'd learnt the night before.

What Scott was looking for was the second article down the page, an article from the Chicago Tribune from three years previously, leading with the headline, "Samsa Slaughtered." Eyes narrowing in confusion, Scott clicked on the link and a page came up with the co-headline, "General Samsa and family killed in tragic camping accident." Scott frowned - this meant nothing good.

Scanning the article, the words heavy on his heart, Scott learned the truth about his new friend. The paper said it had been a tragic accident in some woods outside of Chicago, where General Samsa of the US navy, whom he guessed to be Steph's father from the unmistakably bright green eyes on a photograph of the man to the left of the page, had been camping with his family when they had all died under strange circumstances, survived by only his 'teenage daughter'. It said the girl had been taken to a psychiatric-centre in the absence of any family in the country, for treatment regarding her ordeal. They thought she was crazy, or hysterical, but Scott realized the truth straight away.

That would be Steph, the only survivor: her Parents and three brothers – dead.

As he saw the words in black and white, Scott blanched in sympathy, face curving downwards at the thought of it. He couldn't even imagine what that must have been like. She would only have been fourteen at the time; and to be left alone in such away? To see her whole family dead? It was unthinkable.

_But 'strange circumstances'_, Scott thought, and his frown became curious as he scrolled down the page, _what the hell does that mean?_ He soon had his answer.

**"****Police have regarded the deaths as 'suspicious', but do not believe the killings to have been a homicide. Rather, the most likely cause of the death is speculated to be an animal attack, from the wounds found on the bodies of the victims, similar to that of a coyote, or wolf."**

At the mention of a wolf, Scott felt his blood run cold. A chill crept into him, as his eyes widened, pulse jumping alarmingly – Steph's family had been killed by werewolves. It was the only explanation.

"No," he said softly aloud, as he glanced over the last part of the article – a photograph. He recognised Steph straight away, although she looked completely different back then. It was before they had all died, a holiday photo with her entire family: parents smiling at the back, her mother the spitting image of his hunter friend, and three younger boys he assumed were her brothers in the foreground. They were all under ten, the youngest just two or three, sitting in the girl's lap. Steph held her brother tightly, his tiny hand closed around one of her fingers and a toothy smile at the camera, as Steph grinned wryly at her other two brothers, who were pulling faces. They looked like a family, and a happy one at that.

It was Steph's appearance who startled him the most. She looked nothing like she did now: her eyes were wide with innocence she had yet to lose, smile more genuine than he had seen before, making him realize just how forced all of her laughs with them were. Not that she wasn't honestly happy with them, but it would be hard to smile at all after losing everything. Her hair was a big surprise too – red and obvious, falling in curls around her ears; Scott realized the jet black he was used to must have been dyed. It made sense, changing what she looked like: disguises ran deep. Steph, or Anna, as she was back then, was generally changed too. The disposition she carried in the photo lacked the toughness she possessed now, her gaze not broken or ferocious; her walls not up, but open. She was happy, or at least she used to be, Scott could recognise the joy he'd seen only once in real life, the previous night as they'd watched the stars. That was who she really was.

Scott quickly clicked the 'x' in the corner of the screen, getting rid of the images and the article. He'd seen enough. It made him sick, to think of all his friend, of all Steph had suffered. And still, she worked with werewolves. No hate for their species drove her, although this was undoubtedly how she became a hunter. He didn't understand – her family had been killed by werewolves, so she should hate them; she had every right too – but she helped them instead. It was incredible, and he didn't notice his eyes were damp until he blinked them, getting to his feet to wander about in an attempt to clear his head, the thoughts there not pleasant ones.

* * *

Isaac and Allison were standing in a clearing in the woods, their lunch long over. The girl had a bow in her hand, pointing at a target fifty metres away. She could shoot already – but practise never hurt anyone. It had been Isaac's idea, knowing she was always calmest and most relaxed when shooting arrows, in her element and strong. He needed her to hold together.

"Okay," he said, after maybe an hour of just shooting at one target, happy enough to just watch her but sensing she was starting to tire. "How about we make this more fun?"

"How?"

"Try hitting that odd shaped tree over there" he pointed to an old, battered and misshapen oak a hundred metres away, with a comic book circle in the centre, a dark knot.

"What? I can't do that, it's not safe" Allison laughed, but still eyeing up the target with a bite of her lips.

"C'mon," he goaded, "scared you'll miss?"

She huffed, "no way."

"Then why not?"

"It's not safe!"

"What is 'safe' in this town anymore?" Isaac asked, walking to stand directly behind her and say in her ear, "ten bucks says you miss."

"It'll take more than that to get to me."

"Twenty?"

She grinned, "You're on."

"If you hit the circle in the middle, the next special burger is on me" Isaac offered as a last bet.

"And if I miss?"

"I get to pick the movie-night movie for a month" he decided.

Allison made a face, looking unsure, "damn it, fine!"

Aiming her bow, Allison concentrated hard on the circle at the centre of the tree, determined to not have to sit through an entire month of Isaac's movie picks. Really, she wouldn't mind, but the last time he'd chosen their films it had been a 'Fast and Furious' marathon – of all seven films. She'd hated it.

Pulling the string back, she took a breath and thought about the wind around her, slightly pushing to the left, and adjusted her aim to compensate. Closing her eyes, she released the arrow.

When she opened them again, it was embedded in the circle of the tree, almost dead in the centre. She grinned, a flush of pride warming her cheeks, and turned smugly to Isaac.

"Told you I could hit it."

"It's amazing what you're capable of, when you believe in yourself" he replied, leaving her open-mouthed as he started to slowly wander off, expecting her to catch up. He didn't care about losing the bet because that was his plan all along.

Shaking her head, she muttered, "I hate you" at his back, biting back a laugh and grin, immensely elated at his faith in her. She may have said 'hate', but really, she meant the opposite.

* * *

At 4am that night, Stiles was awake as usual, the ceiling of his bedroom becoming a sight he knew better than any other. This night's dream had been of the night they'd beaten the Darach, running alone through the woods towards the nemeton and thinking he was too late to save his dad. The more he ran, the further away the tree became, and he had woken in a cold sweat two hours ago. He couldn't stand it any longer.

Angrily getting up, he pulled on some old joggers and a faded shirt, pulling a Scott and leaving through his bedroom window. He had gotten quite good at it, actually, climbing down the side of the house almost soundlessly and taking off at a jog. When he got to the same road he'd been on the previous night, sweat clinging to his skin and shattered, a familiar figure stepped up from the kerb, strawberry blonde head bobbing as she gave him a small smile.

"What are you doing here, Lydia?" he asked, coming to a stop in the middle of the street.

"You were there for me last night," she shrugged, "figured I'd return the favour."

"Huh," Stiles said, as they fell into pace, walking down the road again, almost like déjà vu, "thank you, although you didn't have to, I'm fine."

"Fine? Really? Is that why you're walking around at four in the morning?"

"Point taken. But I don't need a babysitter."

"Good thing I'm a friend then" Lydia said.

They made their way across town, walking at a comfortable pace and talking when they felt like it, and it wasn't so bad that they were tired and fighting. They were nearer to the reserve, the tree line on their left, when a noise told Lydia and Stiles they were not alone.

Passing by a group of warehouses on the edge of town, both flinched back in shock when a shot cut across their path, Stiles arm immediately flying to cover Lydia and push her down to safety, but the bullet hit a warehouse in front of them. It was a warning shot.

"Shhh," Stiles said, crouched with Lydia in the middle of the path and looking to where the shot originated in the forest before making a decision, "we have to get to cover and call Scott."

Looking up again quickly, he pushed her ahead of him and they both ran with their heads down to the door of the warehouse. Wrenching it open, Stiles held it open for Lydia to run through and they both stood in the semi-darkness, listening hard. If it were a Hellhound or Wolf after them, bullets wouldn't be necessary, so it must therefore have been a person - but why someone was trying to shoot them was a mystery to them both.

"Is anyone out there?" Lydia hissed under her breath, and Stiles shrugged in response, but froze instantly when footsteps echoed from the path outside, followed by a voice.

"Kids! Come out; come out, wherever you are!" A voice called, which Lydia placed as male from the low, gravelly tone, "we just want to talk. If we wanted you dead, we wouldn't have missed."

The speaker paused for a moment, expecting them to answer or reveal themselves, but a squeeze from the boy on her arm told Lydia to keep quiet, and they waited.

"Fine," the voice said, but sounded pissed now, "have it your way. We'll find you and then talk on _our_ terms." With this, the footsteps of maybe two men started towards where they were hiding, and Lydia and Stiles ran away through the warehouse, trying to keep silent as they passed through sets of doors, the huge space cavernous, pursued by the men. Footsteps clattered behind their own, telling them the men had seen them, and the pair headed upwards, a metal staircase and double door leading to a second floor. Once inside, and sure they were out of the hunters sight, Stiles tried the nearest door and found it opened, following Lydia inside and closing the door behind them just as the men appeared on the landing, looking around for them.

Through the porthole like circular window, Stiles ducked to the side and watched their progress. He was right – it was two men in their thirties or forties, guns in their hands and looking considerably angry. Lydia was crouching at the back of the cupboard like room, but he smiled comfortingly at her when he glanced back, seeing how terrified she looked and wanting to get her out of there. This was his fault – Lydia was only there because of him. He had to get her out.

Without even looking, his fingers went to his back pocket and pulled out his phone, Scott's number on speed-dial. Although he hoped, his friend did not pick up. "Damn it, Scott" he cursed, knowing it was now his responsibility to get them out.

The hunters were walking down the corridor now, having lost them, and eventually disappeared through the next set of doors. Once they were gone, Stiles turned to put a finger to his lips and motion for the girl to follow him as he silently opened the door again and stepped out into the corridor. Looking both ways, he kept his hand around her forearm, making sure she was safely behind him, and they made their way as quietly as possible back down to the doors.

Everything inside was covered in a layer of grime and metallic, the whole place reeking and with a horror-movie feel to it. Not the best place they could have hidden, in retrospect. Strange carpet lined the floor, red and faded orange in a pattern which would be at home in a Granny's house. The doors they were headed to, like every in the warehouse, where white with a circular window in each and were fingertips away when a shout broke out behind them.

"Run!" Stiles yelled, shoving the door open and then ushering Lydia through, and as he turned the men were charging back down towards them. On the other side, he slammed the white doors to, roaring over his shoulder, "Keep going!"

Lydia turned and fled down the metal staircase, as he braced the doors and looked around for something to jam them with, a metal bar a few feet away catching his attention. Grabbing it, Stiles managed to wrench it through the door's handles just as the men rammed the other side, the bar holding the door shut for now.

He too ran down the steps, following Lydia towards the door they'd entered from. But the warehouse was huge, and he could hear the men kicking the door – the bar wouldn't hold them for long.

_Thud._

They kicked the door, and it shook on the hinges as Stiles ran faster.

_Thud. _

A second kick, as Lydia reached the halfway point, veering to the left to get to the entrance.

_Thud._

The bar rattled in the handles, nearly falling but holding on as Lydia reached the door, turning back and screaming for Stiles to run faster.

_Thud._

With finality to the boom echoing around them, the doors crashed open, emitting the two men, who pointed their guns at Stiles' back and yelled. "Stop! Right now or we shoot."

Clenching his jaw in frustration, Stiles came to a stop, looking desperately to Lydia, still framed in the door, telling her to run, pleading with her to save herself with his eyes. But she was as scared as he was, frozen, and she wouldn't leave him anyways. Slowly, Stiles raised his hands over his head, flinching as he heard the men approaching down the steps and turning to face them, determined to keep a brave face.

"You too, back in" the one man ordered, clearly the leader and the one who had spoken outside, waving his gun at Lydia, who walked hesitantly back in. She stopped next to him, as he dropped his hands to move slightly in front of her, Lydia moving in step behind him and talking his hand from behind and squeezing once before letting go.

"How adorable, we got ourselves a hero" the man said, sneering at Stiles as he protectively stood in front of the blonde, staring back venomously. That really made his blood boil. This was their town; Stiles would not let these two stroll in and threaten Lydia, threaten his friends.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" the boy demanded.

The man laughed, "Acting tough won't get you anywhere. We know exactly who you are."

"Is that a threat?"

"This is a warning," the man said, still walking forwards and stopping in the kid's face, his accomplice waiting behind. "To you and your little pack."

Stiles waited, and the man continued, "You've caused us a hell of a lot of trouble, you know? Opening that Nemeton was a selfish thing to do, kid, and people aren't happy about it. The whole coast is swarming with monsters and it's you and your stinking dog pack's fault."

"You're hunters?" Stiles said, head tilting. "Thought you guys had a code."

"Not everybody follows it," the man sneered, "now; we know you two are human, so we won't kill you for now. But friends of ours have died because of you, and we're not opposed to taking down the werewolves who started all this in the first place, so you're going to take a message to your alpha for us: strange things are happening in this town, unexplained deaths and _infestations_. This changes now." The man leered right in his face, and Stiles could smell his breath, "if the dogs have got any sense, they'll run. But we're coming back, and next time it'll be for their heads."

"Go to hell" Stiles said on impulse, thrusting his chin up at the hunter defiantly, "this town belongs to us, it's our home and we're not going anywhere."

"Oh really, son?" the hunter said, anger rising, "I'm not opposed to putting a bullet in your head. Werewolf sympathisers are as bad as the mangy mutts themselves."

"You don't scare me-"

"Stiles, stop!" Lydia squeaked behind him, hand coming to his arm and cutting off his spat words.

"Yeah, listen to Barbie if you know what's good for you" the hunter snarled.

"And start running and don't look back if you know what's good for _you_," Stiles said, leaning forwards and shaking Lydia off his arm, right in the other man's face. His eyes were dark. "Because I have been through too much to let you hurt my friends, and I'll die before you touch them. Trust me, we've faced bigger fish than you, and we're still here – how much of a chance do you think you stand, huh?"

Outraged, the hunter moved forwards, gun aimed right at him and intending to pull the trigger. But Stiles knew what to do; hell, he'd been practicing it all day.

First step in disarming an attacker: the catch. As the gun moved towards his face, Stiles jerked his shoulder to the right, but the movement of the hunter continued, not anticipating of the move. As the gun went past, Stiles twisted to grab the arm of the man, not the gun itself. A hand on his elbow and wrist, Stiles pushed the gun away from him and Lydia as the hunter made a noise of surprise, caught.

Step two: control. With the arm secure, Stiles knew he had to make sure the man could not used the gun again, so with a practised twist of his hand, he snapped the man's wrist, feeling the bones breaking under his fingertips. The hunter screamed in sudden pain, releasing the grip he had on the gun on impulse. Maximising the potential of the movement, Stiles swung the arm he had been using to hold the other man back, elbow connecting with the hunter's ribs. The man flinched back, and Stiles grabbed the gun now, using the extra momentum to turn and knock the man's feet from under him.

Finally he stood over the hunter, who was lying on the ground clutching his ribs, with the gun cold in his palm and the situation more in his control. Lydia was watching him in shock, mouth open in surprise at the fact he had pulled it off, in shock at the brutality it had taken.

"Easy, son" the other hunter said, as Stiles pointed his own weapon at the fallen man, aware there was one more weapon in the room and that the threat was not over. "We're not going to hurt you, we told you that."

"But threatening the lives of my friends is okay?" Stiles asked, his cold gaze turning to the other man as his fingers flexed on the gun. "I don't think so."

"I don't think you got the guts to shoot me," the man on the ground taunted, but his voice was rigged with pain, "You're just a kid."

"Shut up" Stiles yelled, each word forced from his throat, "I am not 'just' anything! This is my home, and my friends, and _nobody_ is taking them from me!"

"Let's not forget you're not the only one armed here," the standing hunter said, voice hardening, "you make any attempt to use that weapon, and blondie gets it."

As Stiles opened his mouth to talk back, a black arrow flew in through the open warehouse door, knocking the gun from the other man's hand, and they all flinched at the movement. "I don't think that will be a problem," Allison said, striking in with Scott and Isaac at her heels, both shifted and looking as angry as she felt. Now they were both unarmed, both the hunters held up their hands in surrender, surrounded by the pack.

"For people who talk big, you just got beat by a bunch of 'kids'" Stiles said coldly.

"We'll be back; there are others who agree with us. You can't fight us all."

"Then bring it. But when you're gathering these followers, make sure you tell them what we're capable of" he stood over them both now, the second hunter kneeling by his partner, "Tell them that Beacon Hills is protected."

* * *

**A/N: **_sooooo was bamf!Stiles at the end a success? cause he was a stone cold hard ass in my eyes right then *"I won't do what you tell me" starts blasting in the background*. I know it's been over a week since the last update and you have my most sincere apologies. Just college has really been getting me down (screw english lit, basically). Reviews and kind words appreciated! next time: the return of two old faces, Lacrosse, the entire pack hanging out together, and some very big revelations. It's called 'Loaded Truths' to give you an idea - Meg._


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